One Mistake
by LifeBringsMeOnlyTears
Summary: Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes are just destined. AU. Sabretooth/OC
1. TwentyOne Candles and a Bottle of Rum

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There _will_ be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. This first chapter in particular is _Mature_ due to sexuality, language, and for its graphic nature. You've been warned. This chapter, for your reference, takes place _before_ X1.

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

**_-One Mistake-_**

**Twenty-One Candles and a Bottle of Rum**

_Chapter One_

It was nearly impossible to find a decent pub in New York where he could find a dark corner to sit in while he enjoyed as much liquor as he could afford. Fortunately, _Nate's_ was known for turning a cheek whenever a 'questionable' customer found their way inside. The bar itself was nestled between a decent pizza parlor and an old-time barber shop. It didn't exactly have the best location, but it seemed that he was not the only one that did not mind. In fact, _Nate's_ had pulled in a rather decent crowd that muggy Friday evening.

He sat alone in a booth for four in the farthest corner, his back to the wall and a cascade of long tawny hair hiding his face from onlookers. Despite the fact that he was sitting, a bystander would instantly recognize the fact that he was not the average man. In fact, Victor Creed was a giant of a man, and had the fierce stance of a predator. Two empty bottles of whiskey were already resting atop the table, and he was halfway through his third. While he couldn't ignore the sounds of the people around him, he could do a damn good job of blocking them out. After all, he had merely wanted to seek a bit of solace from his own thoughts and drown them in as much liquor as possible. He was well on his way to doing so.

Known as _The Mutant Bar_ to both mutants and non-mutants alike, _Nate's_ was rumored to have some of the best beer on tap, decent bar food, and enough entertainment to keep people coming in over and over again. Five pool tables were spread across part of the floor across from the bar top and four large card tables were parallel to them. A small dance floor was set up near the large jukebox that had more music than most would ever actually realize, and there were enough tables and booths scattered across the large bar that it could easily hold upwards of three hundred people. Needless to say, the bar was a bit packed, even for one a.m. Still, he'd decided that until he could honestly say that he was at least feeling a slight buzz, something that could take at least a few more bottles if he paced himself appropriately.

While everyone merely assumed that Victor was keeping to himself, his eyes were actually roaming over the room time and time again. Despite the fact that the air conditioner was working overtime, it was still a bit sticky and uncomfortable. Which is exactly why his amber eyes found their way to every woman in the bar, at least once. Sabretooth, as his enemies would often cry out as he gutted them crotch to chin, was a man of simple needs. Blood, food, liquor, and of course women. Granted, he didn't often consider them women, but instead a simple fuck whenever he needed one.

Amber eyes narrowed in concentration as he searched the bar for his mark, and eventually settled on a group of people that were loud and boisterous. She was perched on the edge of a barstool, her third shot of rum in her left hand. Even from across the room he could see the way that her green eyes glittered under the dim overhead lights. He wasn't quite sure why he'd decided that _she_ was the lucky lady, but somehow he knew that by the end of the night he would be wrapping his hand in her long brown locks and feasting on that gorgeous neck of hers.

When he caught her eye, he had it all planned out. He would make her come to him.

--

Alyson Winston was perched on the edge of an aged barstool, her boot-clad feet tapping along with the rhythm blaring from the jukebox in the corner. Her best friend, a short blonde named Rachel, flanked her left side while Erica, Susan, and Heather all sat to her right. They were a loud and boisterous bunch, something that seemed to annoy the bartender in the slightest, even as he placed drink after drink in front of the crowd of five. Alyson herself was a bit more outgoing than she normally was, but she had the most valid excuse of the entire bunch.

"Happy Birthday to me!" She toasted herself yet again before throwing back her third shot of rum. While her friends were working on martinis and beers, she was slowly inching her way through a bottle of Captain Morgan that she'd ordered up the moment she'd entered the bar. It burned its way down her throat, but she merely shook her head and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before glancing toward Erica. "You guys aren't getting quiet on me, are you?" she teased, already knowing that her friends were wearing down from the long evening that they'd had before finding themselves in _Nate's._

Erica, a snappy-dressing studio executive that could never seem to go anywhere without her PDA, brushed back her chin length black hair and gave Alyson a cheeky grin. "What do you expect, Aly? We're not all as crazy as you." Erica lifted her martini and slowly took a sip before stabbing the olive with a toothpick and popping it into her mouth. "Besides, we've all had a very long day."

Quickly agreeing with her friend, Heather let out a sigh and brushed her dirty blonde locks back from her freckled face. "Some idiot in Accounting lost my Accounts Payable for the last quarter and I had to spend three hours going over the numbers and working up a new summary for my boss. Needless to say, he was still not a happy camper. It just pisses me off that people can't seem to do their damn job anymore." As if to accentuate her point, she slammed her Corona down and snarled. Still impeccably dressed, she and Erica were obviously the office career women of the small group.

"One of my kids thought that it would be funny to put paste in his hair today. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that shit out? You should have seen the way his mother glared at me when she came in to pick him up today." Susan shook her sleek blonde hair out of her brown eyes and let out a sigh. Running her own daycare wasn't exactly as easy as she'd expected, and it was obvious that it had been a long day. "I should really get going soon, Aly. I know that we promised to give you the best fucking birthday ever, but I'm so tired that I'm considering sleeping right here and now."

Rachel let out a large laugh as she slapped Alyson on the shoulder and swung her long black ponytail around as she shook her head. "I hate to say it, Al, but I think we're all dead tired. I worked a fifteen hour shift today." Still in her scrubs, it was obvious that she'd had a long day at the hospital. "I still don't give a shit what people say, nurses do all of the work."

Alyson managed to smile slightly as she lifted her head and glanced around the bar idly, momentarily finding her gaze locked with a stranger in the corner. Slightly shaken, she turned her attention back to her friends and lifted both shoulders in a shrug. "Ladies, I understand. It's getting late and you all have to work tomorrow anyways." She waved her hand in the air as if to say that she didn't mind, and slowly filled her shot glass yet again. "Don't worry, I have the number of for a taxi programmed into my cell. But my apartment's just a few blocks away. If I'm too sloshed to make it home I'll just call up a taxi." She snorted to herself as she ran her finger along the rim of her glass in thought. Suddenly quiet, she seemed a bit out of sorts, but her friends were too tired to notice.

"I really am sorry," they all said in one form or another as money was exchanged with the bartender and tabs were settled. Within minutes, after receiving warm hugs and squeezes from each of her friends, Alyson was left to her own devices at the bar.

Annoyed and frustrated, Alyson slowly lifted her shot glass and let the liquid slosh down her throat. The rush that followed as she slammed the glass onto the bar top was enough to have her throwing back her head and shouting. Feeling slightly invigorated, she turned until her back was against the barstool and she was facing the pool tables and card tables. Elbows resting on the bar behind her, she slowly crossed her long, jean clad legs and let her eyes roam. She absentmindedly tugged at her rather revealing top, hoping that she wasn't sharing too much cleavage and yet at the same time hoping that she did.

That's when she met the gaze of the stranger in the corner again, but this time she let her eyes linger. Even from the distance she could tell that he was a large man, but she could see little more than his face or his broad shoulders. Fingering the diamond heart pendant that hung at her throat, she briefly

considered allowing herself to slip into a role that she'd never felt completely comfortable in. Yet, she lingered there, staring at him and wondering why he was alone in a bar filled with so many easygoing people.

Muttering something to the bartender about keeping the bottle of rum safe for her, the lithe and graceful woman slid off of the barstool and swaggered across the room with a knowing smile on her face. She forced her gaze away from the stranger as she walked over to a pool table where a game was already underway between two men that looked to be in their late twenties. Both were rather tall and broad, and both had slightly long hair that curled over the collars of their shirts. The only difference that she could see, right off, is that one was a blonde while the other had rich black hair. They noticed her immediately and tipped their heads in her direction even as she rested her palms on the rail of the table and leaned forward, seemingly engrossed in the remaining balls left on the table.

"Looks like stripes is kicking your ass," she murmured with the slightest shadow of a smile on her face.

"Yeah, well I figured I might as well let him win one game." Blondie smiled at her as he watched his friend line up his next shot, which he easily sunk. "I'm Ben and this is my buddy Tyler. We were workin' up the nerve to come on over and talk to you and your friends when they up and left. Problem?" He offered her a crooked grin before he realized that it was his turn and quickly moved to the other side of the table to take his shot.

Alyson watched, only half interested, as he missed the perfect combo and cursed under his breath. "No, they were just tired and bailed on me. So I ask you, boys, what kind of friends bail on you on your birthday?"

"It's your birthday?" Tyler asked as he grabbed his beer from a table a few feet from the billiard table and took a long swig. After she nodded her head in reply and stood up straight, he slowly shook his head and walked over toward her, gripping the pool stick firmly in his left hand. "Well, that's a helluva deal. Don't worry, you're more than welcome to hang out with me and old Ben here. Granted, we ain't the best company."

Chuckling, she lifted her hand and rested it on his arm. She could feel his muscles tense under her fingers, and briefly wondered if he had a decent body under his black t-shirt. "That's okay, boys. I just need to relax and maybe have a few more rounds." Idly glancing over her shoulder back toward the bar, she couldn't help but grin when she noticed that one of the waitresses was bringing over her rum and a single shot glass on a tray. The waitress, a rather unattractive woman with graying blonde hair, quickly sat the tray on the table where Tyler and Ben had their beers, before disappearing.

"Rum?" Ben lifted a brow as the three of them convened around the table and slowly cupped his Budweiser in his left hand. Pool sticks had been abandoned on the table, as both men figured that sitting a few games out might be worth their while. "You're going to get trashed on your birthday, honey."

Offering him a shrug of one shoulder as she slammed back her fifth shot of the night. By that point, there was very little burn and it seemed to go down a lot easier than it had in the beginning. In fact, she was feeling more and more relaxed by the minute. "Might as well, boys, might as well. After all, who in the hell gives a fuck about it anyway?" Annoyed, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, obviously in thought. "Besides, might as well drink it up so that I can talk myself into going home with some lucky fuck."

Smirks were evident on their faces as Ben and Tyler shared a look, one that Alyson didn't quite catch as she lowered her head and rested her chin on her hand. "Doesn't sound like you're having that great of a birthday, babe," Tyler remarked as he threw his arm over the back of her chair and slid her a bit closer to him, causing her to nearly topple over in surprise. "Hey, take it easy," he tried to help her sit up, but she shoved his hand away and did it herself. "No reason to get unfriendly, babe. I was just trying to help."

"I don't recall saying that you either of you were going to be the lucky fuck, now did I?" While the question was whispered purely in jest, her eyes held a fiery light that made both men look at her a bit more closely. Letting out a very feline-like purr, she trailed her fingers teasingly over her exposed throat and over the thin gold chain that held her diamond heart pendant. "Don't look so heartbroken boys, I just wanted a little company. After all, Captain Morgan might warm me up, but he doesn't play the right song to lure me in."

"It's your birthday, so why don't you just let us give you a ride home and show you a good time?" Ben propositioned, obviously insistent that a woman that appeared to be half-sloshed would be less likely to turn him down. "Come on..." Trailing off, a strange look found its way to his eyes when he suddenly realized that he had no idea what her name was.

Merely offering him an impish grin, Alyson slid her chair back and stood up, clutching her rum in her left hand while her right slapped Tyler's hand away. "Propositioning a lady before even getting her name? What kind of a cad are you?" Laughing, she shook her head and moved away from the table, fully intending to angle toward the stranger, whose eyes she'd felt on her throughout the entire evening. Instead, she found that Tyler was a bit more insistent on her remaining, as he snaked a hand up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her back toward him.

"Don't go running off, babe. We're all just friends here." He flashed her a smile that, she imagined, was meant to put her at ease, but merely made her tense in apprehension. "Come here, sit on my lap."

Slightly dazed by the alcohol that was coursing its way through her veins, she allowed him to tug her into his lap. She nearly dropped the bottle, but Ben reached over and peeled it out of her grasp and sat it down on the table before she could really react. "Hey, hands off!" Annoyed, she slapped at the hands that were wandering over her thighs and hips. "I said, get your hands the fuck off of me."

Frustrated, Alyson managed to wiggle off of his lap and landed unceremoniously on the floor at his feet. Unfortunately, she'd managed to knock his beer out of his hand and it clattered onto the ground beside her, spilling its meager contents onto the floor near her hand. "Look what you did now," Tyler hissed as he snatched at her arm, only to jerk it back when he noticed a crazed look in her eyes. "Why don't you keep us company while you finish your bottle of rum. After all, you only have a birthday once a year."

Growling, Alyson launched herself to her feet effortlessly, her green eyes narrowing into black slits as she exposed slightly elongated incisors to the two men. The whole bar was watching by this point, and she could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on her even as she glared down at the two men.

"Should have known you was too cute to be a human, bitch," Tyler muttered as he simply leaned back in his chair and stared up at her with eyes full of resignation. Even then, mutants weren't really well known and had kept to the shadows. But, in a place like _Nate's_, it wasn't completely out of the question to realize that you had been playing pool for over two hours with an absolute stranger that just happened to be _different._

Chest clenching, she slowly lowered her hands to her sides before grabbing her rum and kicking the table over, causing both Ben and Tyler to jump to their feet and curse. "Whoops. Must be drunk, huh?"

But her eyes, which had seemed slightly glazed over from the alcohol before, were clear as day and narrowed in play. Both men gulped as she playfully hissed at them again before walking over toward the bar. Everyone seemed to stare at her as she made her way across the bar languidly, her hips swaying suggestively. Pulling a single bill out of her back pocket, she tossed it on the counter and winked at the bartender before walking out of the bar without a single word.

--

Curiosity piqued, Victor waited a full minute after the woman's leave to slip out of the booth and follow in her wake. The bar, it seemed, was still in shock as everyone seemed to give him a wary glance as he nodded at the bartender before slipping out into the warm summer air. A single sniff had his amber eyes darting toward the right, searching for his prey. He quickly spotted her walking down the abandoned sidewalk, her boots barely making a sound on the concrete. Yet, even from the distance he could hear her humming, muttering under her breath even.

Stalking after her, a feral grin found its way to his lips slowly. He'd assumed, naturally, that she was a mutant of some sort. But, because of the smell of the alcohol that had clung to her, paired with his slightly buzzed state, he hadn't realized that she was feral. _Like him_. It had taken a great deal of self-control to refrain from leaping to his feet and ripping the bastards that had taunted her apart, but he had managed. In fact, he found himself rather enjoying the spectacle that she'd put on for him, if only for the fact that it gave him a chance to see what lay ahead.

As if suddenly sensing his presence, the woman slowed and glanced over her shoulder, her honey-colored hair catching in the moonlight. He didn't slow his pace and she only stood there for a moment before picking up her previous pace and continuing along the deserted path. To say that he was enjoying the thrill of the hunt would be an understatement, as he was already aroused to the point where he was annoyed that he was following her at all.

When it seemed as though he would have to make his presence known, she suddenly darted to the right and into an alleyway between two large apartment buildings. He followed quickly, and only caught a glimpse of her leaping a good ten feet into the air and catching the edge of a fire escape, only to shimmy up it in a moment, one-handed. Grinning to himself, he followed, leaping gracefully into the air and landing atop the fire escape easily. A large open window lay before him, and her scent called him inside. Stooping slightly, he slipped inside and found himself face to face with the woman from the bar.

"I don't find stalkers amusing," she muttered, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the counter. The two were standing in what appeared to be a decent-sized kitchen, not that he noticed much more than the fact that she didn't seem surprised to see him. "Is there something that I can help you with?" she sneered.

He let out a low warning growl as his amber eyes trailed her body from head to foot, and back again, lingering slightly at her shapely hips and her well-rounded breasts. While Creed wasn't picky, he preferred a certain type of woman. She fit that qualification to the T. "Heard it's yer birthday," he murmured, his voice dark and throaty.

Brows lifted immediately, but she nodded her head. "I had a feeling that you were watching me, too." She appeared smug as she gracefully hopped up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle down even as she leaned back slightly and propped herself up on her palms. Her sleeveless green shirt, which was quite revealing, seemed to inch up her abdomen slightly, much to his chagrin. "So, do you do this often? Sit around at a mutant-loving bar and wait for some drunk chick to roll through so that you can have easy pickings?" While her voice remained calm, he could smell the uneasiness in her.

"Yer not afraid o' me," he muttered, both confused and infuriated by the realization. He did, however, notice the way she tensed slightly, as if in anticipation of his touch. But, he stayed where he was, letting the breeze coming in from the window wash over him. "Who said I was lookin' fer easy pickins?" he grunted, half amused, half annoyed. Sure, Victor had let himself lose a few of his frustrations in the company of less savory women, but a fuck was a fuck. When he could help it, he did his best to get the pick of the litter. "'Sides, don't see ya throwin' me out, frail."

Lips parted slightly, she gave him a quick once over. "I'm stupid, I ain't that damned stupid. You ain't like most men..." she trailed off, searching fora name. Letting out a soft snort, she shook her head quickly after a short silence. "Okay then, be mysterious. But, as I said, I'm not stupid. But, I hope for your sake that you're not just another fucking moron, because if you are you're in for a rude awakening."

Bushy brows dipped both in annoyance and amusement, he offered her merely a slight inclination of his head. While Creed enjoyed a challenge every now and then, he could already tell that this one would be a pain in the ass. In fact, he found himself wondering if perhaps he should have just set his sights on an easier lay for the evening. After all, it would have saved him a lot of hassle in the end. "Don't worry, woman, Just here fer a fuck." It was said so matter-of-factly that he enjoyed watching the emotions play across her face at his words.

"This isn't some whore house, buddy. So, take your happy ass on back out that window and be on your way." She slid off of the counter and clenched her fists at her sides. He could smell her anger, her frustration, and it made him grin. "Don't smile at me!" she shouted, her voice lowering as she growled at him. "Get out of my Goddamned house, you prick."

He crossed the distance between them in two long-legged bursts, and had her back pinned to the counter in the space of a heart beat. Growling angrily, he used his strength and weight against her. Creed watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as her eyes widened both in shock and fear. "Yer not a very nice host, frail. Not nice at all." A sound rumbled low in his chest as he shoved her against the counter even harder by crushing his hips against hers. That's when he saw the look of arousal cross her features before her eyes hardened.

"I don't think so," she hissed.

Taking him by surprise, she jerked her hands toward his face and he watched as razor sharp claws three-inch claws crept out of her nail beds. A split second later, she had slashed him across his left cheek and even across his chest. Howling, he grabbed both of her small wrists with one taloned hand and held them in place between them. But, to his surprise, she managed to jerk free yet again and claw at his face. Enraged, he raked his taloned hand across her face, slapping her backwards at the same time.

"Don't push me, frail," he warned as she lifted her hand to her face and glared at him. Yet, even as he felt the tingling sensation that signified his wounds were healing, he watched as the shallow gashes across her face healed as well. Stunned, he merely glared at her. Other than the Runt, he'd never seen anyone do anything like that. "Ain't no need to make this uncomfortable," he grunted, mainly because of the way she wiggled against him.

Amusement glinted in her eyes as she retracted her claws and merely stood there, eyeing him silently. "Name's Alyson. Nice t' meet you."

Surprised by the sudden change in her attitude, he eyed her suspiciously. He couldn't figure out what she was trying to play at, and that bothered him. He didn't like surprises. "Victor," he found himself grunting in reply, as if it were expected. For a full minute, they just stood there, each eyeing the other with a half-amused expression. That is, until she broke the silence.

"I don't know if it's the rum talking, but is that a fucking baton in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" A feral grin greeted his eyes as she rolled her hips against his, causing him to growl. Her green eyes darkened as her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips, which only caused him to growl yet again, lower this time. "You're feral too, ain't you?" she asked as she rolled her hips in a circular motion, nearly causing him to let out a moan in the process.

Instead he slowly shook his head. She looked young, far younger than he knew he appeared to be. While it was obvious that she had a healing ability, that did not necessarily mean that she had a retarded aging process as well. So, Creed could only assume that she'd never met another feral. "Can ya smell it, woman?" Without waiting to see if she understood the question or even if she would answer, he lowered his head and feasted on her exposed throat.

She cried out in shock and he felt her lift her hands and press them against his chest, but he paid them no mind. Eager and hungry lips trailed over her skin, kissing, suckling, occasionally biting. He couldn't even begin to explain why the mere taste of her skin had him close to panting for more, but he knew that he had to have her. She didn't seem to mind at all when he let his search wander to her cleavage, kissing the tops of her breasts hungrily before trailing his tongue over the small cleft between them.

"Oh, holy fuck," she groaned as he lifted his head and slowly met her eyes. Creed watched her eyes glaze over as he rubbed himself against her, something that she enjoyed just as much as he did. "Yes, yes, I can smell it," she murmured as she rubbed at his chest through his clothing. He was wearing a loose-fitted gray t-shirt over a white wife beater, but it still felt like he was overdressed. He wanted to feel her soft skin against his. "I - I thought that I was the only one," he heard her murmur. "I've met other mutants, but none that are like you..."

While it answered his earlier private question, he merely grunted in reply. At the moment, his thoughts were centered purely around slamming inside of her as quickly as possible. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he found it a bit more difficult than usual to speak. "Who knows how many there are, woman. Could be just us, could be dozens more." Of course, he only knew of himself and the Runt, and Mort if you included the scaly type in the description. But, he didn't know this Alyson and didn't care to know her. "Ain't no reason to make this unenjoyable f' both of us, now is there?" He let his teeth nip on her lower lip before he straightened himself yet again.

She seemed to be contemplating the entire situation, even as her hands began to roam over his chest. He half wanted to feel her claws singing over his flesh, branding him in their own way. Yet, more than anything he wanted to taste her, to trail his tongue over the length of her body and lose himself, if only for a split second of ecstasy, for reasons that he could not explain.

"No, no reason to make this unenjoyable," she echoed, her jade colored eyes narrowing into black slits as she reached behind her and produced her bottle of rum. Victor merely rested his hands on the counter on either side of her as she twisted the top off and then let the rest of the bottle's contents burn a blazing trail down her throat. Slightly impressed, he merely watched the way the muscles in her throat clenched slightly, and had to fight the urge to refrain from ripping her clothes off and slamming her against the refrigerator and sinking himself deep inside of her. But, seconds later, she was tossing the bottle over his shoulder, sending it crashing against the refrigerator that he had contemplated using moments before. A bit of the liquor beaded down her chin and she quickly licked it up. "I've got two requests, Victor."

Eyes narrowed into slits of warning, he gave a low warning growl but still managed to nod his head. "The fuck I care if-" he was cut off as she wrapped her arms around him and managed to wrap both of her legs around his waist at the same time. The feel of her body pressed so intimately against his, even through the layers of clothing, had him panting in need. "What the fuck ever they are, consider 'em fuckin' done."

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear." She purred as she gently trailed her tongue along his exposed jaw line. Nipping gently at the skin near his ear, she slowly drew her head back and met his eyes with a predator's gaze. "Simple enough, really," she iterated her words by pulling her hips away slightly before crushing herself against him again, immediately causing him to dig his taloned fingers into her hips tightly. Merely grinning at him with slightly elongated canines, she purred again. "Gotta get me in the bedroom, big boy."

That seemed simple enough. Without even caring that he didn't know the exact layout of her apartment, he charged through the place, one hand now firmly cupping her ass against him and the other fisting in her hair and pulling her lips to his. There was no gentle probing, but instead a sharp and animalistic clashing of lust and need that surged through the two of them. Even as he plunged his tongue into the depths of her warm and insatiable mouth, he was moving down a long hall that held four doors. He moved forward on scent alone, making his way past a utility room, a bathroom, and an office of sorts before literally kicking in her bedroom door and stepping into the darkness.

No lighting was evident in the room, but the light blaring from the kitchen down the far hall was enough to cast a dull light in the large room. The moment that his booted feet met what appeared to be soft beige carpeting, he lost a great deal of control. Raking his talons over her clothing, he watched with a sense of pride as her shirt came apart in his hands, allowing him to glimpse the black brassiere beneath. "Get me out of these clothes," she whined as she loosened her grip around his waist and let her feet drop to the floor.

Growling, he held his hands at his sides even as she slid her warm hands inside of his t-shirt and tugged at the hem of the wife beater that was tucked inside of his jeans. He recognized the irritation in her eyes as she finally managed to loosen the fabric enough to slide her hand inside of his shirt and against his warm skin. "Not that bad o' a second request," he grunted as she unsheathed her own claws and glared at his clothing. But, he quickly batted her hands away and slid his own shirts off, far from inclined to think of walking out later shirtless. He vaguely recalled that when he'd first spotted her, he'd decided that she would come to him. After all, it was more of a fifty-fifty thing.

They stood there eyeing one another hungrily, both shirtless and breathing rather heavily. Suddenly, she pushed him back so that he was sitting on the bed and she dropped to her knees in front of him. Tugging on his boots, it only took her a moment or two to remove them, as well as his socks. Trailing her hands up his jean-clad calves to his thighs, she grinned wickedly at him. "That wasn't a request, honey. That was a suggestion." While he watched, she made quick work of her own boots and socks, tossing them into the corner of the dim room with a dull thump.

"Come 'ere, ain't done with that suggestion," he grunted as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her onto his lap. Sitting with her knees on either side of his legs, he let himself run his hands over her thighs and hips, even as she retracted her claws and began to run her fingers of his chest. But it was moving too slowly for him, he knew. What little control he'd had was gone, and with each passing minute he only grew more crazed by the feel of her body against his. Growling, he attacked her brassiere with a vengeance, reaching around with one hand and making quick work of the thing so that it fell away from her breasts in one long, slow motion. "Almost there," he grunted, referring to the fact that he still didn't have her quite naked.

But, she was pressing her chest against his and grinding herself against him, causing the straining heat in his pants to only increase with each passing moment. As he was bending his head to explore her breasts, she was pushing him backwards and onto his back. He complied, letting her play the dominating role for a moment as nimble fingers worked at the clasp of his jeans. Soon she was attempting to peel his jeans off, and he lifted his hips to aide in the process. "I don't know why I'm surprised, but I am," she hissed as she pulled the jeans off completely and tossed them across the room, obviously not caring where they landed.

Victor was pleased with himself, even as her hair trailed over his naked flesh invitingly. But, his patience was gone. Surprising her, he grabbed her by the arms and quickly flipped so that she was pressed against the bed and he was kneeling over her, his naked body pinning hers down. "Don't sound so surprised," he growled as he lowered his head and trailed his tongue from her belly button to her breasts. She arched her hips upward and let out a muffled groan. Then she lifted her hands and caught his wrists and placed his hands on the clasp of her jeans. He complied eagerly, breaking the button and ripping the zipper down quickly. She merely stared up at him, waiting, as he slipped his fingers inside the hem of her jeans and tugged them down slowly, his eyes taking in every breathtaking inch of her body.

"Talking 'bout the fact that you weren't wearing anything under them jeans." He heard her groan as he managed to tug her jeans off completely, leaving her only in a pair of black lace panties. Her eyes met his for a moment before he used a talon and merely ripped away the offending object, picking it up with his finger and tossing it off of the bed in a practiced motion. His fingers skimmed over her thighs quickly, easing them open and letting his gaze shift from his prize to her face again. "Victor, I've got another suggestion..." she trailed off as she bucked her hips toward him, making him let out a low growl even as he trailed his fingers lower. "Holy fuck!"

It wasn't common for Victor to actual care if the woman was left as satisfied as he was in the end, as long as he got a decent fuck out of the deal. But, he found himself watching her ride up a wave of euphoria that his touch caused as slipped his finger in and out of her slowly. Her hips bucked against his hand even as she mewed, closing her eyes tightly as she mounted over that crest. "That what y' had in mind?" he asked throatily as she lifted herself up onto her elbows and stared at him with dark eyes.

Without a word, she fisted her hands in his hair and he let her pull him upwards. He wasted a bit of time trailing his tongue over her body, which was already covered in a thin sheen of sweat. But, soon he was bracing his weight on his palms, letting his talons dig into the slightly rumpled comforter as he stared down at her. He was pressed against her intimately, his erection pressing against her damp skin. At the moment he could only think about how good it was going to feel to lose himself in that tight warmth, how her body would clench around him as he took her places she'd never been.

Yet, as he was positioning himself at her entrance, her hand was suddenly clenching his arm tightly. "Victor, second request's being called in." Her voice was a bit anxious, maybe even fearful. Against his own will, he found his eyes meeting hers even as he used one hand to guide himself into her slowly.

"I'm a little busy here, woman," he grunted as he found himself firmly sheathed inside of her, the warm and wet feeling causing him to let out a feral growl that caused his body to vibrate against hers in the most pleasant of ways.

Even as she lifted her hips and wrapped her long and supple legs around him, allowing him to inch further inside of her, dark jade eyes were latched onto his. She opened her mouth to speak, but merely let out a guttural moan, one that caused him to bare his teeth in anxiousness. "Goddamn, that feels good," she purred as he merely stayed sheathed deep inside of her, allowing her body to get used to his rather large size. "Second request," she managed even as her nails raked over his forearms, causing him to growl in response.

He lifted his hips, sliding himself almost all of the way out of her before sliding back in, causing her body to shudder in response. "What?" he hissed out as he started a rhythm that satisfied him, for the moment. There was no gentleness in his touch now, no leisurely care taken to ensure that she was enjoying it. But, she matched his thrusts with equal fervor, causing him to lower his lips to hers despite the fact that usually he kept to fucking and fucking alone.

Lips and tongues colliding in a feverish nature that had him slamming against her with more force and speed than he'd originally intended, but if anything she rose to the occasion. It was animalistic, primal, fitting of the two feral mutants that were both only looking for something physical for an evening. Yet, he was panting as she pulled her lips from his and dug her claws into back, causing him to hiss both in pleasure and pain. "You're out before I wake up in the morning." The words were said so quickly, so hoarsely, that for a moment he did not think they'd come from her mouth. But her eyes, narrowed into dark slits, were focused on his as he continued to slam into her.

He'd never considered staying past sunrise, even if she was turning out to be the best fuck he'd ever had. Her body seemed to have been made for his, and she hadn't even once whimpered as he'd slid inside of her. Most women would have been crying out for a few minutes, even if they were adequately stretched for the larger male. Creed wasn't like the others, needless to say. "Consider it done," he hissed as her hand fisted in his long hair and drew his lips back down to hers.

Yet, as they crested over that wave of ecstasy, together, miraculously, he found himself letting out a loud and guttural cry when she lurched up and sank her teeth into the sensitive skin at the apex of his neck. But, it was just as much a turn on as it was painful. So, he licked his own blood from her lips as he rolled over so that she was on top, in the dominant position.

Eyes glistening with need, despite the fact that they'd both climaxed, she began to ride him hard, slamming against him greedily as her breasts danced in the dim light. "Good, since y' consider it a whore house anyway," she snapped, just moments before she lowered her lips and assaulted his yet again.

For the rest of the early morning hours, no words were spoken between them. Murmurs of consent and pleasure were exchanged as they explored one another's bodies possessively, but they both knew that it went beyond the physical. The sun was rising, filtering in through the large windows, when he rolled out of the bed gracefully and searched for his scattered clothing. It didn't take him long to locate it, though he was a bit disgruntled at the thought of walking out of there shirtless. He couldn't find his shirts anywhere. Amber eyes roamed over the clearly organized room until they rested on a large bureau. An oversized white shirt lay atop it, obviously a nightshirt of hers as it smelled only of her, no other man. Victor slid it on begrudgingly, only slightly surprised when it fit him rather well.

"Happy birthday, frail," he murmured as he let his eyes caress her form yet again. She was sprawled atop the sheets, as they'd finally thrown the comforter off of the bed at some point. Her long, honey brown hair was fanned out around her face gently. Moments ago she had been curled around his body, but she was now simply curled up toward herself. One hand was tucked under her cheek and the other appeared to be reaching across the bed toward him. Feeling unusually protective, Victor found himself draping a thin white sheet over her nude body so gently that she did not even stir. Then again, he had worn her out.

Then, without once looking back, he strolled out of her bedroom and down the long hall that led into the kitchen. He briefly cast a glance toward the shattered remains of the bottle of rum on the floor before climbing out the window and sliding down the fire escape. The city was already coming to life, but nobody noticed as the hulking man slipped out of an alley and onto the main street, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

In the end, the woman had not come to him. He had gone to her, as if by instinct alone. He knew only her name, _Alyson_, and found that it was more information than he felt comfortable with. She was supposed to have been just another nameless, faceless whore that he could get off on. But, she hadn't been.

"Bitch fucking bit me," he grunted as he lifted his hand, as if possessed, to his neck. He winced slightly in pain when he realized that the wound had not healed, which was completely out of the norm. In fact, he had a feeling that it wouldn't heal. "She deserved mine then," he muttered to himself as he thought back to the bite he had left bleeding on her gorgeous neck.

So, Victor Creed let himself get lost in the wave of anonymity that the large crowd of people offered. He had the card of a interested employer in his pocket, and had every intent on getting the first ride out of town and heading north. He also had every intention on never telling this Magneto fellow about another feral mutant. Alyson just wasn't cut out for the life that he had.

_Still was a great fuck_, he thought to himself with a snarl.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know, far more mature than my usual style. I've already got the first six chapters of this lovely story complete, as I work on it when I'm stuck on NEM. Feel free to leave your thoughts or comments.


	2. Switching Sides

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There _will_ be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. This second chapter merely has adult language, so you kiddies can uncover your eyes. For your reference, it's been close to ten years after Victor and Alyson first met in this chapter. Please bear with me in setting the groundwork for this story! Oh, and thanks to _Coffeelvr72 _and _ceilidh-kay_ for reviewing. It means a lot.

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

**_-One Mistake-_**

**Switching Sides**

_Chapter Two_

Getting blood out of car interior is one of the most arduous things to do, which is exactly why he did whatever he could to clean himself up before climbing into the cab of his old pickup truck. Satisfied that the majority of the blood that had caked his hands was cleaned off, he threw the truck into gear and peeled out of the gravel parking lot of the home that he'd just exited. Still, his eyes lingered on the rearview mirror, staring intently at the large home that had once belonged to a senator, a very powerful senator. Then again, it still belonged to him. He was just dead and couldn't enjoy it anymore.

Victor Creed, better known as Sabretooth both to his enemies and his employers, had just completed a bit of necessary adjustment for a friend. It wasn't uncommon for the man to take a job now and then that required a bit of finesse that the local grunt work couldn't take care of. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty, and as long as they didn't mind paying him, it all worked out well for both parties in the end.

Granted, his new friend hadn't exactly _asked_ him to take out the anti-mutant senator, but had merely informed Creed of the senator's location and simply informed the feral mutant that Senator Richard Wesley had the power to sway the Democrats into signing a new bill that would literally put mutants at the bottom of the food chain. In fact, Creed's new friend had never _asked_ him to do any of the less than perfect things that he had done over the last several months. Then again, the old man probably wanted to keep his hands as clean as possible.

He was already two hours away from the location when his cell phone began to ring. Reaching over blindly, he groped around the passenger seat before snatching the phone in his right hand and flipping it open. Only one person had his number. "Creed, here," he barked, less than enthused about hearing from the old man again so soon.

"Mr. Creed, I just heard the tragic news about Senator Wesley. It seems that the authorities found him dead in his home. Poor man, it appears that an anti-mutant group decided the man was a bit too boastful." The voice, ever familiar, was tinged with just the slightest hint of an accent. But, it remained dutifully calm, even as Victor gripped the steering wheel tightly in his left hand and kept his eyes on the darkened road.

"Yeah, well, I got it done," he replied gruffly, not bothering to mask the disdain in his voice. "What do you want, old man?" His current employer only called when he had a mission of sorts for him, and Creed had a feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever it was the old coot had up his sleeve.

"Well, for the last number of months we've discussed the possibility of a permanent position for you here, Mr. Creed. I assume that you are still considering the offer?"

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, amber eyes focused on the road that was illuminated by the high beams of his headlights. The tires of his old pickup gripped the road rather well, but every once in a while he would skid around a curve, as the water on the road only continued to accumulate. "Been considerin' it, yeah," he muttered, thinking about the last couple of places that he'd managed to crash in. Sure, he had bases spread throughout the world, but it wasn't safe for him to stay in them for more than a day or two, tops. Not with the shape of the world's governments.

"Then you've made a decision, I hope?"

Letting out a sigh, Victor nodded his head, as if expecting the man talking to him on the phone to actually see him. "You said there ain't gonna be no problems with the others, right?" he asked, his voice rough and haggard.

There was a slight pause before his employer replied, "I can assure you that there will be no problems, Mr. Creed. I've prepped those that need to know about your possible arrival over the last few days. While I must admit that a few were less than thrilled, they do understand that it is imperative that we have you on _our_ side."

"Then consider me hired for the long term, old man," he muttered gruffly, not truly believing that the words were coming out of _his_ mouth. Still, the moment that the declaration was made, he felt as though a bit of weight had been lifted off of his chest, making him feel just a bit lighter than he had before.

"Ah, that's excellent to hear, Mr. Creed. I can only assume that you're heading in this direction, which is good. However, I do request that you make a bit of a pit stop in order to aid someone for me. I'll give you the coordinates."

Thankfully, the distance between the two was not so extreme that the telepathic intrusion into his mind was more than momentary. Split seconds later, Victor Creed had the detailed location of an abandoned apartment building that was being used as a safe house for mutants etched into his mind. "Any particular reason why I'm headin' there, Wheels?"

There was a slight chuckle from the other end of the line as he slowly let out a sigh. "There's been a bit of trouble with a member of the team, and I'm afraid they're in a bit of tight spot at the moment. As you're well aware, the latest batch of Sentinels that the government has cooked up is a bit more of a challenge than the last several versions. I'm afraid that the location of this safe house has been disclosed, and it is currently under attack."

"The new Primes?" he asked, gripping the wheel a bit tighter as he recalled the last time he'd run across two of them in a dark alley. They could be put out of commission, of course, but it wasn't always an easy job. In fact, he much preferred the fact that the new Sentinels bled just as much as the next stupid fuck that got in his way. "It'll take me a bit to get there, y' know."

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Creed. However, I will contact Wolverine, as he is already en-route, in order to let him know that you are on your way." He paused for a moment, perhaps in order to allow the information to settle in Creed's mind. "Are you going to be fine working with Wolverine right out of dugout?"

While he wasn't exactly looking forward to running into the Runt, Victor knew that he'd already made his bed and that it was time to sleep in it. Working with the X-Men had never been something that he'd deliberately planned on doing, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "I'll be fine, old man. See you when I get there," and then he hung up.

Eyes focused on the never-ending road in front of him, Victor allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts as he followed the route that Charles Xavier had provided him mentally. Yet, when the battered old pickup finally came to a stop in an abandoned looking parking lot outside of the fourteen story brick apartment building, his mind was clear for the first time in a long time.

By the time he had exited his vehicle and headed toward the main entrance, his senses were on high alert.

"'Bout time you got here," a rather rough and immediately familiar voice echoed from the shadows to his left. Moments later, the figure of a gruff man wearing worn jeans and a flannel shirt appeared, his trademark pointed hair and thick muttonchops making him look more haggard than absolutely necessary. "Chuck told me t' wait around till you got here."

Surprised by the lack of animosity, Victor merely nodded his head. The two had once been partners, then vicious enemies. But, it looked as though for the time being, at least, that they were back to being partners of sorts. "Sounds quiet for a bad situation," he muttered, a low growl escaping his throat.

"Gotta 'bout fifteen Primes spread throughout the buildin'. Got most of the mutants cornered on the ground floor near the back, by what was a Rec Room. But, there's a couple scattered about. One we're lookin' for is most likely on the top floor. Not sure if they've found 'er yet or not. But, judging by the lack of screamin', I'mma guess they ain't." Logan, or Wolverine as his enemies called him, glanced up at Victor with a frown on his face. "Gotta get her out. Chuck wants us t' try and make sure the others make it out a'right, too."

Grunting in compliance, Victor moved swiftly toward the front entrance, body poised to attack. Wolverine covered his six, and the two entered the building quietly, barely making a sound as they eased the door off of its hinges and used it to bash a Prime over the head. In fact, things seemed to be going rather well for the duo until they ran into the second Prime, which promptly let out a strange, high decibel sound that seemed to be a warning signal for his compatriots.

Because of their extremely heightened, and therefore sensitive, hearing, both Sabretooth and Wolverine let out howls of pain and rage before lunging forward and gutting the thing where it stood. "Let's get this over with. I got shit t' do," Victor decreed as he stalked forward, the bloodlust causing his eyes to be a bit darker than normal.

If he was to switch sides, then he'd already decided that he would do it in style.

--

Blood dribbled down her chin, teasing the sensitive skin of her neck before disappearing under the cloth of her plain red shirt. Bruises were evident on her slightly tanned cheeks, but they were already fading. Her wounds, which minutes before had seemed life-threatening, were already healing. In fact, she felt as though she was slowly getting back to her A-game, as she tended to call it.

"You know, we can dance around all damned night, or you could just get over the fact that you're not going to get anything out of me." Her voice was low and husky, laced with a predatory growl that could make a grown man shake in his boots. "Sounds like my friends are here anyways," she commented dryly, her green eyes focusing on the figures across the room from her.

As if on cue, a feral yell echoed through the quiet building, reaching her sensitive ears easily. From the way that her foes stood and stiffened, she could only assume that they had heard it as well. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to rip their throats out and feel their blood dribble down her fingers for what they had done, for what they were.

The three, one man and two Primes, all stared at her with the same blank expression. But, after a short moment when the sound of a feral yell reached their ears yet again, the man's eyes widened slightly. The smell of his fear was strong in the room, and it brought a predatory smile to her glistening lips. "You're to take us to the shelters that you've been coordinating for mutants," the man demanded, lifting his automatic rifle and pointing the muzzle in her direction. His finger danced over the trigger, as if he was debating on whether or not to simply get rid of the evidence; her, or to turn on his heel and run. "Consider this your last chance." Then he murmured a command to the two Primes, who lifted their weapons immediately.

"I don't think so, boys," she whispered even as they opened fire. Her body lurched to the side instantly, diving to the floor and then rolling to avoid the onslaught of bullets as they pierced the floor, the walls, the tip of her boot. But, in a moment, she was on her feet again and smashing through the closed door as if it were not an obstacle at all. Her feet pounded on the wooden floor in the hall, carrying her to the stairs instead of the elevator. But, her pursuers were not far behind. She could hear the man shouting at the Primes to follow and that he would meet them back at base, which was code for _'I'm a pansy and I'm bailing'._

The lights lining the stairs were bright and made her wince even as she ran down, three steps at a time. She was relying purely on instinct at that point, and could only hope that she would not fall on her face because she was moving too far too fast. The Primes were on her tail just after she'd skirted the landing of the floor three floors below the one she was fleeing from. She could hear them calling out for her to stop in those robotic monotonic voices that always gave her the creeps when she was a kid. Then, the plaster on the wall just behind her exploded as they attempted to take her down even as she fled.

Her breathing was still even, albeit a bit heavy, as she made it to the halfway mark some eighty seconds later. Sprinting as if her life depended on it, which it did, left her senses somewhat clouded. Vaguely, she could hear the sounds of a fight happening below or outside of the floor doors that she continued to pass. The Primes behind her did not have to worry about growing tired or even a muscle cramp, as they were more machine than they were human. But, thanks to the fight she had already put up before backup had arrived, she was fighting exhaustion. She knew from experience that a tired body was a dangerous accessory, that it only took one screw up to wind up near dead.

Unfortunately, she as she was nearing the ground floor, she had the privilege of feeling two bullets rip through her right shoulder.

"Oh, you fuckers!" she shouted, even as she let out a feral growl. More bullets ripped through her, one through her left calf and another through her left hand, but she did not stop running. Every blinding shot of pain only further reminded her that she still had a long way to go even if she did get outside, that there were other Primes in the building that had been ordered to kill her if she would not cooperate. _I'll never sink to that level_, she thought with a snarl as she slammed out of the door of the ground floor, wood splintering.

She could hear someone shouting through the thudding in her head, through the fog that was already creeping further over her senses. But, she could not locate the source as she tripped over a large couch in the lobby and flew through the air, only to slam into a wall. For a moment, she considered staying down, letting the Primes fill her with lead until even her body would give out and bury her in the darkness. But, as she rolled over so that her back was pressed into the wood of the wall, she knew that she would never go down not swinging.

Green eyes watched as the two Primes approached cautiously, their weapons still held at the ready as their beady little eyes scanned the already destroyed room for any sign of her backup, or perhaps even their backup. "Subject Lynx, located. Orders are to kill on sight, repeat, kill on sight." It always got under her skin how inhuman the voices sounded despite the fact that they were made using human vocal chords.

"Oh, it ain't gonna be that easy, bub." A familiar voice, one that she had grown familiar with over the last few years, caused the two Primes to turn their attention to a figure walking toward them calmly. He was garbed in worn jeans and a flannel shirt, both of which had a great deal of blood upon them. His hands were held at his sides, and each hand sported three deadly adamantium claws, gifts of a man named William Stryker. He was her friend, her confidante, her teammate. "Lynx, why don't you come on over here, darling," he spoke directly to her, but his eyes never left the two forms that had high-powered rifles aimed at her chest, her head.

Slowly, she stumbled to her feet and limped toward him. Her body was already struggling to heal, and intuitively she knew that the bullet lodged in her calf needed to be removed before the wound healed over it completely, as it was already close to doing. Her hand was already usable, but still achy. The wound on her shoulder would take the longest, but she'd dealt with worse pain. "'Bout time you showed up," she hissed to the man as she grew closer to him, her body wearing down with every step she took.

Compassion shone in his hazel eyes as he nodded in her direction, motioning for her to keep behind him. On the battlefield, they were considered equals. But, for once in her life, she was willing to give up the reins and let someone else take the front lines, as she was tired and achy. Unfortunately, the Primes did not comply, and opened fire.

"Ah, fuck!" the man cursed as he lunged forward, tossing her to the side as he aimed for the two Primes. The sound of metal tearing through both flesh and metal screeched through the room, even more intensified due to her sensitive hearing. Dazed, she stumbled to the side and found herself on her hands and knees, her long hair brushing the ground as she stared down at bits of glass and the wooden floor itself.

The commotion only escalated when the far windows exploded and five more Primes rolled through, causing Lynx to lift her head and stare in their direction in surprise. It was not often that they bothered with backup. _Must really want me dead this time_, she decided even as she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the vertigo that threatened to spill her onto the floor again. "You guys just don't know when to quit," she hissed as three-inch razor-sharp claws protruded from her nail beds at her command, shining in the bit of light that glinted off of them. Shots were already ringing out when she launched herself through the air, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

Claws met the sensitive flesh of men as she dug her claws into the throats of two Primes, ripping them out and feeling their blood trail down her hands even as she turned and chest kicked another Prime, sending him sailing across the room. The sound of gunshots caused her ears to ring, but she continued fighting, clawing out at the remaining Primes even as they backed up and shot at her wildly. Lynx moved across the floor quickly, flipping and kicking off of walls to keep from being shot. But, her antics quickly drained the rest of her energy and left her standing in the middle of the room, her claws retracted and her chest heaving.

Her partner, the infamous Wolverine, was running toward her, shouting for her to get down, when the Primes opened up fire. Her reflexes were slowed dramatically as she launched herself toward the floor, covering her head with her hands. She felt a heavy body drop down over hers and nearly passed out when the oxygen left her lungs briefly. But, no bullets pierced her skin.

A feral yell met her ears, one much like the one she'd heard from upstairs, and caused her body to stiffen under Wolverine's. The sound of flesh tearing greeted her ears, and the smell of spilt blood met her nostrils. Moments later, the heavy body atop her was gone and she was being pulled to her feet. Eyes fluttering, she leaned against the man known as Wolverine heavily and waited for her healing ability to catch up.

"Think that's all of them," Wolverine murmured quietly, letting the stillness in the entire building settle over the three of them.

But, she was not paying attention to him. Her eyes were focused on the lone figure standing where the Primes had been just moments before, eyes slitted in anger. If his appearance had changed any, which it hadn't, his scent alone would have been enough to have her recognizing the behemoth of a man.

"Alyson?" the voice that had haunted her every night greeted her ears as the man stalked forward slowly, his tawny hair coming loose and framing his face in soft wisps. Those slitted eyes returned to their normal amber color, and she felt as though she was spinning in place. "The hell's wrong with her, Runt?"

"Blood loss," Wolverine replied as she felt her body being lifted into the air.

Eyes closed, she let herself slip into the awaiting darkness.

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the long delay, readers of _One Mistake_. I don't have a beta for this story and therefore it takes me a bit longer than normal to get it out, as I have to beta it myself. Feel free to leave your thoughts or comments in the form of a review!


	3. Hidden but Found

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There _will_ be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. This first chapter in particular is _Mature_ due to sexuality, language, and for its graphic nature. You've been warned.

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

**_-One Mistake-_**

**Hidden but Found**

_Chapter Three_

Victor had followed Logan, the man known as Wolverine, to _Xavier's Institute for the Gifted_, his new residence. Alyson, it seemed, had insisted on riding with Logan. But, the large man didn't mind as much as he probably should have. It had come as a complete surprise to see the woman, to realize that _she_ was the one that Charles was so worried about saving.

_Best one-night stand I ever had_, he thought to himself as he gripped the wheel tightly and steered the vehicle onto the drive and followed Logan's taillights into a large garage. Moments later, the truck was in park and he had a single duffel back slung over one shoulder and keys tucked into the front pocket of his worn and bloodied jeans. Logan and Alyson both emerged from the other vehicle, each turning to face him with varying degrees of worry on their face.

"Gonna fuckin' stare at me all night or we gonna go inside?" Growling, Victor followed the two as they led the way into the actual school.

The hour was late, and they ran across no students save for a small boy donned in large glasses that merely stared up at Victor as he walked by. The large mutant had fought the urge to growl lowly in warning when he sensed no fear in the boy, and instantly decided that he liked him. Instead, he merely followed Logan and Alyson to an elevator, one wherein it seemed that they were all pressed rather close together, something that seemed to bother Alyson more than he would have liked. To say that it was awkward running into one of his old fucks would have been an understatement, as part of him wanted to turn his gaze away and pretend he didn't know her while the other part, mainly below the waist, was sorely disappointed that Logan was in their company.

"Where th' hell we going?" he snarled as they exited the elevator and he found himself walking down a shiny metallic-looking hallway.

It was Logan that glanced over his shoulder and replied, "To get patched up, furball." If a smirk hadn't accompanied the comment, Victor may have grabbed the smaller man by the throat and tossed him against the wall, but since one did, he found himself unable to do anything more than let out a low, warning growl.

The three trekked down the hall in silence before Alyson suddenly stopped and turned to a closed door. It was not until after she'd entered a seven-digit code on a keypad that the door slid open, revealing what appeared to be a rather high-tech medical facility. Victor was surprised, however, when a large and furry blue man ambled over, a white lab coat barely stretching over his broad shoulders. "Ah, I see that our guest has already arrived." A clipboard was shuffled into his left hand as he offered his furry blue hand to Victor, who promptly grasped it firmly and gave it a good shake. "I'm Henry McCoy, but please, feel free to call me Hank," he offered with a smile as he stepped back and motioned for them to venture further into the room.

Soon the three of them were seated on different examination tables, Victor between Logan and Alyson. He had been the least hurt, so Hank had started with him, merely assessing his wounds and declaring that in an hour's time, he would be back to normal. Logan was told virtually the same thing, and Hank also suggested that Logan shave his muttonchops for health reasons. But, when he moved toward Alyson, he let out a low sigh and shook his head.

"Hey, don't look at me, Big Blue!" Alyson lifted her bloodied hands in the hair defensively even as he motioned for her to lay on her stomach. As she did, Victor found that he was unable to tear his gaze away from her, as if he was afraid that he would miss the way that her muscles rippled under her red shirt or flexed under her tight jeans. "Had one in the shoulder, calf, left hand. Had a few in my side earlier before they roughed me up, but I'm guessing they've already healed.

"Alyson, I'm going to have to tear away most of your shirt and most of your jeans in order to get a good look at these wounds," the blue man declared as he produced a pair of shears and made quick work of the entire left leg of her jeans and merely cut away her shirt entirely. "Ah, they've healed up nicely," he murmured to himself as he brushed his fingers over the slightly visible wounds, causing something deep inside of Victor to flare up in response. But, moments later the examination was complete and Alyson was sitting up, garbed in only half a pair of jeans and a bloodied white bra.

His eyes traced over her form quickly, trailing over the smooth expanse of tanned abdomen to the exposed cleavage, to the way a diamond heart pendant rested against her skin. It was the same one, he realized, even as he stood up and found his attention drawn to the entering figure of one Charles Xavier, a wheelchair-bound man with the power to rid the world of any prejudice, should he overlook his own ethics.

"Mister Creed, I was just informed of your arrival." His wheelchair moved forward so that he was seated in the middle of the room, where all four of them could clearly see him. Victor had no doubt that the man had sensed them and had merely waited until they were ready before venturing to see them. "First of all, what is the status of the safe house, Alyson?"

From the corner of his eye, Victor watched as the woman brushed her hair back and let out a sigh. "I gave them directions for our backup plan, Chuck, but it's a loss. A good deal of them are talking about going down with the Morlocks and hiding out until this mess with the MRA has passed. They just don't understand that it isn't going to pass." She paused for a moment and he felt her gaze on him before she continued. "Someone higher up than just the local forces have gotten wind of our little Mutant Underground. The Primes had some asshole of a man with them that offered me a bit of an exchange; information for my life."

"I've been afraid of that for the last few weeks," Charles Xavier replied as he tore his gaze away from the woman and stared up at Victor. "I'm sorry that your entrance has been a bit more dramatic than promised, but when I received a distress call from Alyson, I hoped that you would assist Logan."

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Victor didn't dare tear his gaze away from the old man's. "Listen here, old man, if I didn't wanna do it, I wouldn't've, and that's all there is to it. Now, I'm sure you all wanna beat around the bush and that good shit, but I'm tired. Assuming you got my room ready, as requested?" he barked, fatigue evident in his bloodshot eyes.

"Yes, but I thought that perhaps," he began, only to cut himself off when Alyson launched herself to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. It seemed to be a signal of some sort, as the old man only nodded his head before motioning toward the door. "Alyson will show you to your room, Victor, as I'm sure the two of you have a great deal to catch up on."

Brow lifted in confusion, Victor merely grunted before shouldering the duffel bag and following the woman out of the room and down the long metallic hallway. Not a word was said between the two as they took the elevator up, this time to the second floor, and exited into a quiet hallway. She lifted a finger to her lips to signify that he should be quiet, and he complied. Soon, she stopped and opened a door and stepped inside, motioning for him to follow. He did, only after gently shutting the door behind him.

"This is your room for the duration of your stay," she quickly and quietly explained as she lifted a hand to motion to the room. "A special bed was brought in for you and you'll find that there are enough linens in the closet to last you for quite some time. You're also privy to your own bathroom facilities. You'll find that you have a rather luxurious shower bath, one of those crazy little inventions that only a space-saving man would ever dare invent." Her green eyes rolled dramatically as she walked further into the room and motioned to a number of the commodities. "You have your own desk here, and here is a cable internet cord, one that you will agree is completely secure, I am sure. There is a television already, behind this portrait." He merely stood and watched as she pressed a large canvas of a lion creeping through the

snow to reveal a large plasma television mounted on the wall. "Granted, you don't have any of the accessories that most kids these days are into, but I'm sure that you can provide those for yourself should you wish. Your belongings were shipped a few days ago, and Ororo had the pleasure of putting them away for you. However, your finer clothes and suits, which I was surprised to see, were dry-cleaned, as per your request."

He was silent for a full minute as he glanced around the room cautiously. Victor Creed charged his clients a great deal of money to get his hands dirty, but it was not often that he was able to bask in the wealth that he'd provided for himself. Granted, _Xavier's_ was not his, but this room was. Relaxed, he dumped his duffel on his bed before running a hand through his long hair.

"So, you workin' with the X-Geeks?" he asked, albeit a bit more roughly than he would have preferred.

Already heading out of the room, she turned on her heel and met his eyes levelly. "There aren't many places out there that are safe for mutants. Here I get to earn my keep the only way I know how while making sure that others like me are taken care of." She paused for a moment before suddenly remembering that she was clothed only in half a pair of jeans and her bra. He smelt her slight embarrassment, which was tinged with the slightest hint of arousal, in the air as she cleared her throat. "You'll find that Scott's room is just down the hall, as is Logan's. As it happens, I am as well. If you need anything, do not hesitate to let one of them know." Then, she'd slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Victor could not help but notice that she had not said anything about helping him should he need anything, and the realization bugged him more than he would have liked to admit. Letting out a gruff grunt of annoyance, he slipped over to the bureau and pulled out a pair of sweats before slipping into the bathroom and then, eventually, into the shower.

"Already perks t' the job," he thought with a feral grin as the steaming hot water poured down upon his body. "Nice perky perks." Gingerly, without even thinking, he lifted his hand to the scar on his neck and rubbed his finger along it.

--

She had already showered and dressed for bed in a pair of shorts and an old shirt when she found herself seated at her desk, checking her e-mail and sipping a glass of Coke from her private mini-fridge. Her body was tired and her eyes were desperate for a bit of reprieve, but Alyson had far too many things to do to sleep. All of the safe houses that she had built from the ground up with Charles were precious to her, but the one that she'd lost that night had more of a sentimental value than anything. It had been the first.

"_You've got mail!_" While Alyson did not usually prefer to use the service provider, one of her more personal accounts, reserved mainly for friends, alerted her of her newest messages. Two were from Rachel and one was from Erica. Her breath hitched when she read through Rachel's, only to learn that her best friend was expecting a baby in just five months. Erica's, she quickly learned, was merely asking for a bit of guy advice.

It was amazing that no matter how different she was from her former group of friends how easy it was for them to fall into the same pattern of friendship. Unfortunately, Heather and Susan had not been able to deal with the fact that their supposed friend was a mutant, and had broken off ties immediately.

Thankfully, Rachel and Erica were more understanding, perhaps more than Alyson had ever thought humanly possible. Which, in her mind, just further proved that friendship runs deeper than blood sometimes.

When she heard a knock coming from her main door, she found herself cursing under her breath. Alyson launched herself to her feet and ran across the room, jerking the door open and hoping like hell they would be quiet. It was nearly two in the morning by that point, and the entire house was sleeping.

Stunned, her jaw dropped and her fingers fell away from the doorknob as she caught sight of a bare -chested Victor Creed standing in her doorway. "Uh, is there a problem?" she managed through the lump that had mysteriously formed in her throat. If anyone were to ask she would immediately claim that it had only been the surprise at seeing such a familiar form at her doorway when she had often dreamt of the same situation a number of nights per week. But, deep down inside she knew her breath hitched because she wanted nothing more than to attack him the way she had nearly a decade ago.

"No problem, frail." His voice was low and throaty, more masculine than she remembered. Those amber eyes trailed from her face downward and then back again, slowing as they took in the sight of her short shorts and exposed midriff. It wasn't often that she dressed so casually, particularly not in a school. "Just wondering how you were feeling," he murmured, purring lowly toward the end.

Her tongue seemed to swell in her mouth as she took a slow step back, unintentionally motioning for him to enter the room. He did, shutting the door quietly behind him. Confused and bewildered, she clenched her hands in front of her even as he glanced around her rather large suite slowly, nodding in approval at her choice for paint and at her bed in particular. "Erm, can I get you something to drink?" she found herself asking as she motioned to the corner wherein her small mini fridge was nestled between her desk and the wall.

"No," he murmured, obviously not thirsty.

Her senses were in overdrive, giving her one hell of a migraine as she struggled to keep them under control. First there was the fact that he was in _her_ room, and his scent was so overpowering that she was afraid she would never be able to get rid of it. While part of her knew that she never wanted to get rid of it, the rest of her was uneasy with the notion of even sleeping in a room that smelled like him. But, perhaps what was most overpowering was the arousal that wafted off of him so strongly that she felt her eyes narrowing into darkened predatorial slits.

"Then what is it exactly that you want?" she found herself asking, even as her body tingled in an answer. She felt rooted to the spot as he stalked forward, never taking his eyes from hers. The first brush of his hand upon her arm sent a shiver of electricity down her spine. Her body was already flushed in apprehension and need as he gripped her arms tightly, his fingers digging into her skin almost painfully. But, as he lowered his head and greedily took her mouth with his, all sense of pain was immediately forgotten.

A low, guttural moan escaped her parted lips as heat flooded through her entire body. Nearly a decade had passed since the two had met and shared a single night, or rather a number of long hours, together. Yet, it felt as though no time had passed as she sank deeper into the abyss of his touch.

"Same thing I wanted then," he muttered against her lips as his hands snaked over the warm flesh of her arm and fingers danced teasingly over the thin straps of her shirt. Her head was spinning and she found herself grasping at the thick hair, or was it fur, on his chest in order to remain standing. "Never thought I'd be seein' ya again, frail," his voice was heavy and hot against her neck as he trailed his wet lips from her mouth to that tender apex where he had left his mark so long ago.

Her body had never healed over the wound, something that she'd never fully understood. Alyson didn't even have scars on her body from when she was a small girl, before her mutation had even fully manifested. Granted, she had always healed faster than other children. He seemed to notice that fact as

his warm tongue snaked over the sensitive spot, causing her to cry out in shock at the thrill it sent down to her toes.

"Momma?"

Time seemed to stand still as her body stiffened and Victor grasped her arms and lifted his head slowly. Dazed, she ran her swollen tongue over her swollen lips and turned her attention to the far side of the room where a door stood open, revealing a small figure clad in gray and black Batman pajamas. Gulping, she felt her heart thud against her chest wildly as she fumbled for an explanation.

"Momma? The fuck he callin' y' momma for?" Victor demanded as he drew her gaze back to his. His eyes were narrowed in concentration as he sniffed the air rather loudly for a number of long moments, his expression as cold as ever.

"I can explain," she began, even as he tightened his grip on her arms to a point where he caused her to grimace in pain. "Honey, this really isn't the best time," she murmured, her green eyes focused on the small figure that seemed to be staring at the pair with eyes as wide as saucers.

"Why are you hurting my momma? Get offa her!" Suddenly, the small figure was running at them, eyes narrowed into slits and incisors bared for all to see. Alyson attempted to jerk herself out of Victor's grasp, but the man merely turned his back toward the small boy and allowed small, razor-sharp claws to pierce his back. "Get offa her!"

But, the panicked moment seemed to disappear rather quickly when Victor released his grip on her and reached around behind him, somehow managing to pull the small boy off of his back and thrust him into Alyson's awaiting arms. "The hell is this?" Victor demanded, his chest heaving as the small boy struggled to get out of Alyson's grasp. Thankfully, when she finally rested his feet on the floor, he remained where he was: between her and Victor.

"I'm Vaughn, you gotta problem with that?" the small boy demanded, his amber eyes narrowed into slits. Gently, Alyson rubbed her hand over his shaggy tawny hairy and did her best to calm the small boy down. He stood at nearly five foot already and had the chiseled features of a teenager. He was still rather thin, but seemed to be filling out well.

Victor seemed off balance for a moment before he met Alyson's eyes over the small boy's head. "No, but I gotta problem with the fact I gotta cub and ain't nobody tell me about it."

Her lips parted in horror as she grasped Vaughn's shoulder with one hand and glared at the large man that had killed countless people in his line of work. "Like I told you then and I'll tell you now, _Creed_," she spat his name as she lifted a trembling hand and pointed at the door. "This ain't no damned whore house."

A feral growl reverberated in the small room before Victor turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Yet, when the room was emptied of his presence and she stood alone with her son, Alyson could not help but wonder why it suddenly felt so barren.

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**A/N:** Seriously, it would be nice to get a beta that would stick around. Am I that demanding? Meh, been busy with life, folks, so sorry you had to wait so long. Feel free to review with thoughts or comments.


	4. One Man's Choice

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There _will_ be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. Sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this one out. Trying to get more added to the story but life's been pretty hectic! Yes, Sabretooth is definitely AU!

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

_**-One Mistake-**_

**One Man's Choice**

_Chapter Four_

"Dammit, old man, you fucking knew and you never said a damned word!" Rage had settled on the man known as Victor Creed as he paced the carpeted study that belonged to Charles Xavier, his former private , and current public, employer. Victor's hair was pulled back into a tight band and he was dressed in good jeans and a black shirt, along with a pair of boots that were both efficient and comfortable. "Was anybody plannin' on tellin' me or were you all seriously thinking that I wouldn't notice?" he bellowed.

Charles Xavier, never one to be bullied, even by a man that could literally rip him to shreds if he wanted, merely stared up at the pacing man with his hands steepled in front of his face. "Quite honestly, I was under the impression that Alyson wished to speak of the matter in person. When she first came into my household two years ago, I never inquired as to whom her father was. But, after the events on Liberty Island, I was forced to do so." He paused for a moment and watched as Victor came to a halt. "When she finally revealed the father of young Vaughn, I was the one that suggested it be kept quiet."

"Why?" he managed, his face haggard and his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Mr. Creed, you are not the most attainable man in the world. Thankfully, I managed to retain your employment after you saw the err in your ways when you followed Erik blindly." Neither spoke of the fact that it had taken a great deal of coercing on Xavier's part for the hired killer to even consider the offer. In fact, a great deal of money had been exchanged before Victor had even been willing to nod his head in Xavier's direction. "You left Alyson in a most vulnerable position, one that she fought her way out of alone. From what I've learned, which is little, she knew only your name. Tell me, how far do you expect a woman to go with a man's name when she realizes that she is carrying his child?"

There was absolute silence in the room as the two stared at one another; Charles with a look of appraisal and Victor with a predatory glare that would have made a lesser man tremble in fear. "Didn't even think about 'er getting pregnant," Victor remarked, seemingly offhandedly. "Never ran across a female feral, but now that I think back on it, her scent was a bit different."

"From what little research Hank has been able to conduct, as Alyson blatantly refuses to be a guinea pig, the female feral mutant has an irregular cycle that peaks four times a year, like clockwork. It would seem, I'm afraid, that it was at its peak the night of her twenty-first birthday."

"Which explains why I gotta cub didn't no one bother to tell me about," Victor grunted, lifting a hand to rub it over his tired eyes. He'd tossed and turned all night after leaving Alyson's room and seeking his own out again. Not only had he been left sexually frustrated, but he'd been left with so many questions that his head had been ringing all night long. "Dammit, this ain't ever happened before."

"Yes, I suppose that one could discredit Graydon," Charles murmured, merely lifting a brow when Victor glared at him. "Victor, as much as you would like to discredit the son that you made with Raven, I'm afraid that even _he_ deserves acknowledgment." Victor Creed's previous and only known offspring was not a mutant, and was known for his firm belief that mutants were scum. Needless to say, no one was particularly fond of the man.

"I just- I ain't got no clue what t' do, old man," Victor finally admitted, his amber eyes dropping to stare at the carpeted floor. "I went lookin' for a fuck, from the best damned frail I've ever come across, dammit. I didn't go looking for this shit. Usually they ain't into it, and it ended up as rape. I ain't gonna deny that."

"Which is particularly why you and Alyson should sit down and discuss this like calm, rational adults. She was left to raise _your_ son alone in a world that fears and hates mutants. Alyson is a strong, rational woman. But I suppose that you might be surprised at the lengths that she's gone to in order to ensure her son's safety." Charles paused for a moment when he noticed that Victor was no longer clenching his

fists in anger. "I will not ask your forgiveness for withholding this pertinent information from you, particularly when I learned that you would indeed join us at the Institute. But, I gave Alyson my word."

Offering only a gruff snort in reply, Victor lifted his gaze and stared at the door that separated the two from the rest of the School. "I'll talk t' her, a'right, but it ain't gonna be pretty." Then, before Charles could stop the man, Victor had stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him rather loudly.

His body felt rigid all over, his muscles tensed in anticipation. The hour was early, yet he still managed to scare a number of school-aged children when he passed them in the hall. That is, until he ran smack dab into a boy, or rather, a man that was damn close to his height. The two eyed one another warily before side stepping and moving onward, and moments later Victor would forget about the run-in when he caught sight of a slightly familiar figure dashing across his path and into a room.

"Same scent," he muttered, mainly so that he could hear the words out loud. The scent of the small boy was a co-mingled scent belonging both to the woman and himself. It was strange to be able to detect the slightest hint of himself, one so ingrained in the boy's DNA, that he _knew_ it was his cub. Deep down inside he knew that the old man was right, that his only choice would be to confront the woman and figure out just what in the hell he was going to do about the fact that he apparently had a cub. "What is he? Eight?" he asked himself even as the door in front of him whipped open and nearly smacked him in the face.

The boy, _his_ boy, stood in front of him, eyes sweeping upward and trailing over his face slowly. His face, which had been expressionless the moment Victor found himself staring down at it, was suddenly filled with whirling emotions. He held a large glass of milk in his left hand and a folded paper towel with what smelled like cookies in his right. "You're still here?" the boy growled, surprising Victor.

Smiling, the large man nodded his head. "Does it look like a little runt like you scared me off?" He bared his elongated incisors, simply to see the boy's eyes widen slightly. Still, his cub didn't move an inch as Victor lifted a hand and cupped the boy's chin, lifting it so that he could get a good look. The boy had his mother's nose and cheekbones, but Victor's jaw, lips, and eyes. It was almost like looking at himself when he was a boy, and it was unnerving. Slowly, he pulled his hand away and shoved it into his pocket in order to keep from reaching out again. "'Sides, don't think a kitty clawing at m' back's gonna keep me down for long."

"Yeah, well you better stay away from my mom if you know what's good for you," the boy warned him in a low voice, one that Victor wouldn't have thought him capable of. After all, the boy's voice was generally kind of high. "You put your hands on her again and I'll gnaw them off."

"Vaughn, you're late for class." Victor glanced up and cursed himself for ignoring his senses and being caught completely unaware by Alyson. He hadn't even sensed her approach and it dug at his pride. Slowly, he let his eyes rake over her form as she came to stand next to the boy, resting her hand atop his head. "Ah, cookies again. I'll let it slide this time."

The little boy frowned as she ruffled his hair and leaned forward, but he still pecked a quick kiss on her cheek before turning on his heel and running down the hall. It wasn't until he was almost out of sight that he turned and stuck his tongue out at Victor. Then, he was out of sight.

"As you can see, Vaughn's not exactly a huge fan," she murmured, causing him to glance down at her with a slight frown on his face. The light from a window nearby cast a halo over her figure, one that was garbed in tight-fitted jeans and a snug long-sleeved green shirt, and even a pair of boots, it would seem. Her long hair- _Was it even longer?_ - was pulled back and braided so that it fell almost to the top of her jeans. "I never kept you a secret from him, but I wasn't exactly fond of using pictures from the paper to

point you out. _'Oh! Look! There's daddy!'"_ She offered him a cheeky grin, but he merely continued to frown.

"Chuck thinks we should sit down and talk about this," he muttered, not truly believing that the words were coming out of his mouth. Victor quickly noticed the way she lifted her chin and tilted her head to the side as she contemplated his words. But, after a moment she nodded her head. "Not sure where t' go."

Alyson merely turned on her heel and walked away, expecting him to follow. Against his better judgement, he did. She led him through confusing corridor after confusing corridor, finally stopping in front of a room and ushering him inside. Once they were both in, she shut the sliding doors behind her. The room itself was exquisite: wooden floors and paneled walls, decorated only by a few paintings and a number of bookcases. There were also a number of comfortable chairs scattered in the room, and he wondered what the room's purpose was.

He watched as she took a seat, crossing her legs, and placing her hands on the arms of the chair. "I'm not really sure where to start," she murmured, her eyes going wide when he took a seat directly across from her, so close that their knees almost brushed. For the first time, he actually smelled a bit of fear wafting off of her, and it bothered him.

"Nice bite mark," he remarked casually, as his gaze lingered on the tender skin that peeked out of the shirt.

His mind was suddenly, it seemed, drawn back to the night before when he'd ran his tongue along that pink skin and felt her quiver against him. His mind was whirling and yet he'd almost figured out his position in the whole thing.

--

Gulping, Alyson suddenly felt a thrill race across her skin at merely remembering the way he'd handled her the night before. It took a long moment before her thoughts were centered back on the correct topic and she was able to proceed cautiously.

"When I found out that I was pregnant, I went to my boss and talked to him about my situation," she began, glad that she was able to find her voice. "Granted, I didn't exactly have the most glamorous job."

She eyed him from the corner of her eye as she let out a deep sigh. "I was a computer programmer," she quickly explained. "I did a lot of work with computers, just about anything that needed to be done. I could fix them up or repair a program. But, he was less than thrilled. This was three months after my birthday, mind you, and he'd gotten a few complaints about my wild attitude, and offered me a way out."

"Lemme guess," he interrupted, his eyes flaring, "it involved a _favor_?"

Slowly, she nodded her head. "Lost my job and kicked the dickhead's ass. Sure, I had some savings, but I kind of screwed myself over. So, I made a hundred copies of my resume and sent it out to every company I could think of. But, my boss had flagged my name and only one company replied. It was a

small outfit in Montana, near the Cheyenne Indian Reservation. Jonathon Silvercloud was the only man that was willing to give me a chance, and it was worth it."

"I settled down there for a few years, watched little Vaughn grow up. We didn't have much media input there, despite the fact that Forge, that's what Jonathon goes by, had more televisions than the local K-Mart. But, every once in awhile we would hear something about the mutant uprising and about someone

named Magneto. Then, I saw your face in the newspaper." The words were whispered, and her hands were almost trembling. "Vaughn was just a toddler, but he was so damned smart."

"So you showed 'im pictures of me?" he asked, disbelief evident in his gaze.

Alyson merely nodded her head. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but it's all that I could do. That is, until Forge began to notice the resemblance between me, Vaughn, and the crazy man in the press. Forge is a mutant, but it took him almost four years to connect the dots. But, once he did, he put me in touch

with a few people that were working toward mutant rights, people that needed a bit of help that only someone like _us_ could offer."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she glanced away. "That's how I wound up doing a bunch of dirty work for a few years for SHIELD. I wasn't even considered an agent, just some lackey that would get a

bit of the grunt work done for a cheap price. But, things for mutants were getting more and more violent when I decided that it was too dangerous for Vaughn. Dammit, he's a kid! He can't take care of himself!" Her chest heaved violently as she pictured something happening to her baby. "It was about then that they were trying to pass the MRA, I finally talked to Forge about a change in pace. That's about when I met Xavier." Vaguely, she remembered living in and out of the household for a number of months as the bill was placed before the Senate.

She stared at Victor for a long moment, letting her green eyes trail from his eyes over the rest of his face. It irked her that she could not gauge his emotions, that she could not smell anything other than his usual scent. He was far more relaxed than she had ever expected.

"First o' all, when y' realized that it was _me_, why didn't you try to contact me?"

Snorting, she slowly shook her head. "Are you fucking kidding me? Honestly, I'm amazed that you haven't laughed in my face and carried on about your business, Victor. Remember, you wanted a _quick fuck_. I don't recall there being any strings attached. Besides, you were working on the wrong_ fucking_ team. I

don't give a shit if we do have a son together; the fact that you were fighting against my friends said a lot in my book."

"And after I started workin' for Chuck?" he growled so loudly that she had to suck in a huge breath to keep from mewing.

"I was busy," she replied, deliberately staring at the floor. "I was busy working on Chuck's plans for the Mutant Underground and getting it going. Quite frankly, I assumed that it would be an in and out sort of thing for you. I _never_ thought you'd turn it into a long-term thing."

But, the fierce look on his face had Alyson cringing. The man that she'd shared her bed with nearly nine years ago was as much of an animal as she was, and she knew that he was less than happy with her calculations. "Where ya ever plannin' on fucking telling me?"

Gritting her teeth, she stood up suddenly, her body tensed in anticipation. "No! Why the hell would I have told you? If you weren't here right now, you would never have known about him anyway. Who the fuck

needs you, Victor? We've made it this far without you, and you're free to get the fuck out at any time. I don't care if the Prof offered you a job, dammit! This is my life! Can't I have just _one_ thing?"

She was close to shaking from anger when he stood up quickly, towering over her instantly. His eyes were narrowed into dangerous black slits, and she knew, somehow, that this was the moment of truth.

"You want me out?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers as she nodded forcefully. But, slowly, a sadistic smile crept over his face. "Well, guess what, sugartits, I ain't going nowhere."

Jaw agape, she stared up at him with horror flooding through her. "What? But, why?" Alyson searched his face for an answer, but received none. "You don't want this," she murmured, knowing that it was the truth. "You hate me."

"Who said I hated ya?" he demanded, reaching forward and grasping her wrists so quickly that she did not have time to react. He was the only man, other than Logan on occasion, that was capable of getting the best of her. "Maybe I'm finally ready for the whole domestic scene?" he murmured as he leaned down to sniff at her neck.

Fighting the urge to let out a blissful purr, Alyson merely stared up at him with a heated gaze. "I don't give a shit if the Prof does say that you've turned a new leaf, Victor. I won't let you turn my son into a fucking psycho."

Then, she shoved him away and stalked by, slipping out of the room noiselessly.

Only, she did not see the look of disappointment that crossed his features.

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**A/N:** Still looking for a beta? hahaha


	5. Persuasion Goes a Long Way

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen. Alyson & Vaughn are mine, however, so hands off.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There _will_ be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. Sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this one out. Trying to get more added to the story but life's been pretty hectic! Yes, Sabretooth is definitely AU!

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

**_-One Mistake-_**

**Persuasion Goes a Long Way**

_Chapter Five_

"Do I really gotta do this?" Vaughn muttered as he stared down at the plate that Alyson sat on the table in front of him. Idly, he picked up his fork and poked at the chicken breast, as though he half expected it to get up at any moment and walk across his plate. "Uncle Logan said that my dad's a douche."

Hands on her hips, Alyson glanced down at him before sliding into the chair across him. The kitchen was virtually empty, as they were having a rather early dinner alone. "Look, I don't like it anymore than you do, Vaughn, but he _is _your father." Eyes narrowed, she slowly shook her head. "Douche is a bad word, and you know it. Next time, you get the soap." Vaughn, ever a boy, rolled his eyes as he forked a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. "Uncle Logan and your dad aren't exactly golf buddies."

"Doesn't mean he was lying though." Alyson glanced up as Logan walked across the room languidly, his eyes full of mischief. Slowly, he slid into the chair next to Vaughn and placed his arm over the back of the boy's chair and watched him eat. "Wheels just told me that he ordered the happy family t' spend a bit of time together. So, tell me, who do you think's gonna back down first? I reckon it'll be whoever comes back with the most physical damage."

Snorting, Vaughn hid his face by staring intently at his food. Alyson, meanwhile, looked less than amused.

"As much as I hate to admit it, he _is_ Vaughn's father. I never intentionally kept him out of our life, but I damn sure never invited him in." She stared longingly at the top of her son's head before she sighed. "Victor has a right to see his son, and as long as Vaughn is in no danger, I think it's best if they get to know each other."

As if on cue, she heard the sound of approaching footsteps and watched as the man in question stepped into the room. She was met with the sight of one Victor Creed, arms crossed over his chest, eyes roaming. "Reckon you're ready, boy?" he asked, rather gruffly.

Vaughn glanced up at his mother before pushing away from the table quickly. His amber eyes glanced up at those that were so like his own for a moment before he slid his small hands into the front pockets of his worn jeans. "Yes, sir," he murmured, reverting to the way he would address any of the adult occupants of the School.

Victor, however, was thrown off balance, but managed to keep his facial features blank as he merely eyed the small boy lazily. Alyson knew that Victor had not made any actual concrete plans to interact with Vaughn, and merely assumed that he was as ill at ease about the whole situation as she was. "Then let's get goin'," he muttered gruffly, lifting a hand to reveal that he clenched Vaughn's lightweight summer jacket in his left hand.

She opened her mouth to object, but merely clenched her fists angrily as Vaughn walked forward and took the jacket and slid it on before walking out of the room in front of Victor. "Listen, you piece of shit, so help me, if you bring that boy back with so much as a scratch on his head, I'll hang you up to the ceiling fan by your balls. Got it?"

A feral grin met her gaze as he merely stalked out of the room with a liquid grace that had her watching after him with as much desire as hatred in her eyes. Logan seemed to notice as he let out a gruff snort that eventually, some moments later, drew her gaze to his smirking face.

"Thought you said y' couldn't stand the man, Al?" he grinned as he crossed his arms over his tight chest. "Look, I know I ain't the best judge o' character, not considerin' that I wouldn't be too put out if the man dropped dead from a single blow delivered by a clawed fist, but yer right: he is Creed's kid." Lips pursed, she merely stared at him as she fought the urge to run her hand through her long hair. "You an' I both know that kid's got his dad's mutation an' yours. Thing is that while he got yer claws, he's got Creed's senses."

"I'm feral too, Logan," she retorted, a low hiss escaped her pursed lips. "I can very well teach Vaughn the invaluable things that he needs to learn about himself, as could you if necessary."

"Yeah, but his are more animalistic, more like Creed's than y' care to admit," he interjected, his strong gaze daring her to rebuke his observation. "The boy heals faster 'an me and you combined, dammit. Ain't nobody but Creed able t' do that, and even his _ain't_ that fast. Vaughn's gonna need someone t' show him the ropes."

The tips of her claws dug into the sensitive skin of her palms as Alyson continued to clench her fists. But slowly, she nodded her head. "Yeah, but the shitty part is that I know Victor's going to get back at me for hiding his _son_ from him, Logan. I don't know the man at all, but I do know that he's going to do whatever it takes to get me back for not telling him, for fucking having _his_ kid in the first place."

"That's what it always comes back to, ain't it, darling?" Logan was on his feet in an instant and crossing the short distance between them. Ever since Alyson had been made a part of the team, the two had become closer than either would have ever imagined. Slowly, he reached out with one arm and wrapped it around her back, pulling her against his side and letting her rest her head upon his shoulder. "The fact that it's _his_?"

"Dammit, it was my birthday, Logan. I was so fucking lonely and I was feeling sorry for myself." The memories of that night haunted her every single time that she closed her eyes to sleep. "What gets me is that there has never been another like Victor," the words were whispered, but the feral mutant knew that the man could hear her perfectly well. It was painful to admit, especially to a man that understood the daily struggle she went through to keep herself in check. "I don't know if he's ruined me for men or if I ruined it for myself. Dammit!"

Logan merely chuckled, as he could clearly remember a specific time when the two had been butt naked on a motel floor, attempting to come together in the most intimate of ways. It had been animalistic, wild, and had gone nowhere. They'd ended up laughing and simply crawling into the bed, wrapped around one another like a comforting old sweater. It had never been mentioned again, but that moment had given them more than friends and far less than lovers. While they had each admitted that they found the other desirable, it simply wasn't an option that either was willing to consider anymore.

"I know y' don't wanna listen, but I think it has a lot t' do with this little remnant," he murmured as he lifted his hand and brushed it along the bit of pinkish skin that peeked out from under her green shirt. While she cringed at the mere brush of the pad of his finger along the scar, she could not help but recall how her knees had nearly buckled underneath her when Victor had paid the souvenir the same amount of attention. "I been tellin' ya that ferals are different, woman. I heard that this ain't somethin' ya can get rid of."

"You and this _marking_ bullshit, Logan," Alyson hissed as she slid out from under his arm quickly. "It's just a fluke or something, you know that!"

"You're both feral mutants, Al. Y' honestly think I didn't notice his?" A grin crept over the Wolverine's lips as he slowly crossed his arms over his chest again. "Face it, darling, y' two were just made for each other."

Cringing inwardly, Alyson found herself both hating and reveling in his words.

"Says you," she muttered, her mind reeling.

--

The trip back to the School seemed to take longer than the one they'd taken while leaving it. Vaughn was completely silent in the passenger seat of the pickup truck, his eyes trained on nothing in particular. While their first outing had not exactly been successful, it had not exactly been a failure either.

"Mom showed me pictures of you when I was little," Vaughn broke the awkward silence before rolling down his window a bit to let in the fresh night air. "She would always tell me that I was just like you."

Letting out a gruff sound of acknowledgment, Victor took a swig off of his cigar before blowing the smoke out of his open window. Alyson, of course, had told him just earlier that day that she'd kept Vaughn up to speed with who his father was. "Guess they weren't the most complimentin' pictures," he replied, gruffly.

"Yeah, well not every kid has a dad that kills people for a living," Vaughn retorted, a hint of animosity in his voice. "A lot of the kids don't know," he finally murmured, after a moment of silence.

Without taking his gaze off of the darkened road in front of him, he glanced over at his son, _his cub_, and felt a wave of shame rush through him. It had never mattered before what anyone had thought of him; if anyone had approved of the nature of his job. He'd never had anyone but himself to worry about, to look after. Then, after a strange turn of events he runs into the one frail that had the strangest effect on him only to discover that he was a father.

"You ain't just like me though, kid. You ain't some kinda fuckin' animal." The words were honest, gruff, and far more forthcoming than Victor would have normally been under a different sort of situation. But, while the two had been out in the woods, he'd already realized that Vaughn was more than just a feral cub, he was _his_. "Look, I know yer just a kid and all, but things that happened with me and Alyson -er, yer mom, weren't supposed t' go farther than one night."

"Yeah, I heard the story. It was a one night thing, right?" Amber eyes met amber eyes as the two stared at each other for a long moment, even as Vaughn's small fingers fiddled with the seat belt. "Y' know, I wasn't joking when I told you to keep your hands offa my mom," he suddenly declared, his eyes alight with malice.

Victor merely grunted in reply as he turned his gaze back toward the road. He had no idea how to talk to his own cub, and it was infuriating. His own flesh and blood was a mere few feet away from him, and yet he could do little more than look like an ass with each passing second. He'd never interacted with cubs before, though he'd gutted quite a few in his line of work.

They were pulling into the drive of the School when Victor glanced over at Vaughn again and pulled the cigar out of his mouth. "Listen, I ain't sure what's goin' on with me an' yer mom, but I sure as hell do know that ain't nobody gonna tell me what the fuck I can and cannot do. Yeah, I'm one of the X-Geeks now, but that don't mean that I'mma take orders like some little bitch." He merely watched as his son's eyes narrowed in response. "I ain't the greatest guy, but I'm still..." he trailed off, unable to formulate the word.

"Can I call you Dad then?" Vaughn asked suddenly, his voice so soft that Victor was unsure if he'd heard the question correctly for a long moment. But, as he parked the pickup in the garage and killed the engine, he realized that he'd heard him correctly. "I mean, you _are_ my dad, right?"

Slowly, Victor found himself nodding his head. His animalistic instincts insisted that his pack needed his care, his guidance. "Uh, sure, kid, why not?" he muttered gruffly, his eyes widened in horror as the small figure grinned before unbuckling his seat belt and bounding out of the truck without another word. "I'm screwed," he admitted aloud, but only to himself, as he slid out of the truck and threw the cigar down on the concrete floor of the garage before smashing it with the heel of his boot.

He had barely made it inside of the School before he came face to face with a rather surprised looking Cyclops. While Victor barely knew the man outside of the fact that he had a hell of a punch on the field, he immediately noticed the disheveled hair and clothes that only caused his haggard face to look even more pitiful. The two stopped and faced one another in the hall, each offering the other a look of resentment.

"Heard you were here," Summers remarked, his brows drawn tightly together behind his ruby quartz shades.

"Heard you were a pussy," Victor retorted, his incisors visible as he sneered at the shorter man. "But, then again, I reckon I should be thankful th' fearless leader of the X-Men's willin' to give ol' Sabretooth a chance, eh?" He merely smiled at the reaction that played across the other man's features, as there was little doubt in Victor's mind that Scott had not agreed to the situation at all. "Then again, pansy boy like you just don't give a shit long as his hands is clean, right?"

Scott, to his credit, opened his mouth to reply but quickly closed it. Without a backwards glance, he turned on his heel and stalked down the hall before climbing the stairs he had just descended and disappearing from Victor's view. Smug, the large man let out a snort before sniffing the air and heading, slowly, in the direction of the one person that he most wanted to see.

After a long trek that involved a trip in a hidden elevator, he found the person in question in a large training room, faced off against a punching bag that appeared to be a bit worse for wear. She, on the other hand, looked simply immaculate with sweat beading down her body. She was clothed in shorts and a tank, and was barefooted. Overall, the beast inside of the man was hungry with need by the time he'd raked his eyes over her form just one time.

Alyson sensed his presence immediately and stiffened, her hands falling to her sides as the punching bag merely swung in the air. For a moment, she merely stood there before turning and facing him with an empty face. "Bring my son back in one piece?" she demanded, her chest heaving as she sucked in another lung full of air.

"Course," he replied, already walking forward, though slowly, with his eyes locked on hers. For a moment, he considered what would have transpired had he told her that Vaughn had slid down a hillside and gotten himself a shiner that had lasted all of two minutes, but decided that the picture in his mind was too ugly to come to light. "Kid's got a good head on his shoulders for no older than he is."

A smile tugged at her pursed lips as she nodded her head in agreement. "He's a smart kid, Victor, real smart. I've taken him out to track before, but I know my nose isn't as good as yours..." He merely watched the emotions play across her face as she trailed off. "Look, ah, I really don't know what to say."

She nibbled on her lip in frustration and it took every ounce of his strength to refrain from stalking forward and nibbling on it as well.

"I didn't never expect I'd ever settle down and have cubs," he admitted, his large shoulders lifting in a gruff shrug. "Hell, I didn't ever think it'd go beyond more than a one night fuck wit' ya, frail. I spotted y' in the bar and all I knew is that I wanted t' bury myself so far inside of you that I'd feel nothing but _you_. I set m' sights on you because you fit the bill, but then it turned out y' weren't just some fuck." His eyes trailed down over her and he merely stared at her shaking hands. "I thought about y' a lot though, before comin' here, that is."

He smelt her disbelief, but it was tinged with mild curiosity. "Well, if I didn't know any better, Creed, I'd say that I rocked your world." A grin was on her face, but it didn't reach her eyes. It seemed to be forced, as if she weren't sure how to react.

"Y' could say that," he replied, voice level and calm. Victor wasn't even aware of the fact that he was walking forward and bridging the gap between them until he was close enough to see a wisp of hair

plastered to her sweaty forehead. "Couple of times over the last few years I found myself back at _Nate's_ and found myself hopin' ya'd show up every damned time. But y' never did."

A genuine smile found its way to her lips as she lifted one tantalizing shoulder in an offhanded shrug. "What can I say, Creed? I'm not the type to patron a watering hole more than once after getting sacked."

Without a word of warning, his hand was fisted in the long ponytail that trailed halfway down her back while the other brushed against the scar that he'd left so long ago. Her scent was musky with arousal instantly and he fought the urge to take her right then and there on the matted floor. Instead, he stared down at her for a long moment before trailing a taloned finger over that scar. Its mate rested in plain sight on his neck, and he felt her eyes lingering there. "Heard somewhere that ferals are like animals," he murmured, hypnotized as he watched her lift a tentative hand to brush at his long and tawny hair. "Reckon we marked each other."

"Which means what exactly?" she asked softly.

A feral grin evident on his lips, he lowered his head and brushed warm lips over the apex at her neck, trailing his tongue all the way up her neck until his tongue was brushing against her earlobe. When his eyes met hers again, he saw the reflection of need and hunger burning in hers. "Means that yer mine, fail. Mine."

To his surprise, Alyson snorted and ripped herself out of his grasp. "I'm no man's property, Creed. You'll do well to remember that."

He could only stare at her retreating back, both admiring the sway of her hips and hating the effect she had on him.

"Fuckin' frail."

* * *

**A/N:** I'm seriously sorry that it took me so long to update. You all have no idea how long it's taken me to right my files and track things down since my computer crashed. Oh, sure, I have everything backed up but when _people_ are up in your room and ransack, it's a little hard to figure out which flash drive is which, unfortunately.


	6. Revelations

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen. Alyson & Vaughn are mine, however, so hands off.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There will be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. Sorry that it's taken me awhile to get this one out. Trying to get more added to the story but life's been pretty hectic! Yes, Sabretooth is definitely AU!

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

_**-One Mistake-**_

**Revelations**

_Chapter Six_**  
**

The very last thing Alyson needed in her life was another bossy man. Charles Xavier, founder of the X-Men, was a rather unconventional boss. But, he was still a man and still her boss. More often than not, when he said _jump_ she was forced to say _how high_ rather than _fuck off_. It certainly didn't help any that the X-Men consisted predominately of men.

And yet, there was suddenly another very bossy man in her life. One that simply wouldn't leave her alone.

"Woman."

Clenching her eyes closed tightly, Alyson forced herself to count to ten under her breath before she turned on her heel to face the very same man that had added yet another complication to her already manic life. "What?" she found herself exhaling, fighting the urge to pull her hair from its constraints in order to run her hands through it.

He seemed to consider her for a moment, his dark amber eyes narrowing as he lifted his chin slightly. "We ain't never finished talking. Plannin' on avoidin' me forever? Cause that shit ain't gonna work."

She couldn't help but think that she could make it work. If he could claim that he'd turned over a new leaf, that he was a good guy, then surely she could avoid him long enough for him to get a fucking clue. It wasn't as if they were living together in a small apartment. The Mansion was huge, and if she was careful and stayed off the grounds often enough, chances were they could go days, maybe even weeks without seeing one another.

But, of course, the bossy man wanted things his way.

"Victor, we have nothing to discuss," she informed him, her voice as calm as she could manage under the circumstance.

Alyson hated the fact that she couldn't shake it, couldn't get the conversation out of her head. His scent lingered everywhere, it was in everything. Her morning routine had even been rudely interrupted when she'd found herself exiting her private shower only to find a towel hanging on the rack that was most certainly not hers. One that was still damp and rank of his masculine scent. It had made her body quiver, had made her ache, and it had taken the knowledge that her son, _their_ son, was in the other room to refrain from rubbing the damned cloth between her thighs like some sick freak.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and she wondered if he'd picked up the faint change in her scent. It was no secret that she found him sexually attractive. Clearly their son was the prime example in that department. "Thinkin' that maybe I didn't come across the way I'd planned," he began, the words clipped as he appeared to struggle through them. Amusement caused her lips to quirk, and he immediately narrowed his bushy brows in her direction. "Ain't nothin' fuckin' funny, frail!"

"Oh, but it is funny." Placing her hands on her hips, Alyson fought the urge to make sure that they were alone in the secluded hallway, if only to make sure that the students were spared the lecture that she was about to shove down the Sabretooth's throat. "I know you're old, Victor. I know that you've been around since before my parents, hell, my grandparents, were. I know that. So, maybe you're from a time where it's acceptable for a man to claim a woman as his property. But, in this day and age, it's a fucking joke. I am no man's property and-"

"I marked ya," he interrupted, emotion flashing through his dark orbs as he stepped forward. He towered over her, his broad chest rising and falling gently, his tawny hair falling free around his face, begging for her to stroke her fingers through it. "It ain't somethin' that can be negotiated. So, it's time ya either accept it, or we take this somewhere soundproof so I can remind ya exactly why-"

"Exactly why what?" she howled, her face a flurry of emotions. Eyes wide and bright, she glared up at him as she shook her head once, braided hair brushing against her back gently. "Yes, Victor, the sex was fantastic, phenomenal. It's never, ever been like that for me with anyone else, I'll admit it." Her face flushed as his eyes raked over her form quickly, and she could almost feel his fingers roaming over her curves, his teeth scraping over her skin. "And- and that's it. It was fantastic, mind-blowing sex. You had a good time. I had a good time. We were stupid, didn't use protection, and now _we_ have a son." She paused, letting her words sink in, wondering if the darkening expression on his face was a good or bad sign. "I don't regret what happened that night. I don't. But, there isn't going to be a repeat."

The quiet hallway was deadly silent save for the sound of their quiet breathing, and the sounds of their pulses. She wondered if hers was racing as quickly as she sensed, or if the pounding in her head was somehow making her imagine it all. Nervously, she licked her lips, body reacting immediately to the way that his gaze lingered on her slightly parted lips, her pink tongue. Her breasts began to ache, and her body belied her own declaration.

God, how she wanted him.

His nostrils flared as he leaned down slightly, gulping up her scent greedily. "That night, was gonna make you come t' me. But, yer too damned hardheaded," he muttered, his breath hot against her face. Slowly, he reached up, his large hand cupping her cheek as he tilted her head backwards, forcing her to meet his gaze levelly. "This time, frail, this time yer comin' to me. Yer gonna suffer until ya do. Count on that."

Alyson found herself reaching upwards, her fingers clawing at his collared shirt, in order to drag him towards her. Mentally, she was chastising herself, hating herself for wanting the man in front of her so very much. Physically, she was aching, already filled with need and desire. "You wish," she somehow managed to retort, the sarcastic remark she'd been aiming for falling short and leaning more toward desperate.

Heat coursed through her veins as he relented, those dark predatory eyes locked onto hers as he lowered his face, lips brushing over hers roughly. His whiskers burned her sensitive skin, scraped at her cheeks as she poured every emotion into the heated kiss. The back of her head tingled for a split second, and she knew without a single doubt that one of the School's resident telepaths had just intruded. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. She took control of the kiss forcibly, gripping the lapel of his shirt tightly as she pried his lips open slightly and her tongue plunged inside of his mouth. She took and she took, but he gave and he gave.

Sensations both familiar and confusing coursed though her as she fought to remain upright, fought to breathe during the short breaks she took. But, the world around her was promptly blocked out as he dragged her deeper and deeper into the very same abyss that she had been tiptoeing around for so very long.

Alyson's hands were shaking, her heart was pounding wildly, and her lips were puffy and swollen as she pushed herself away from him. Green eyes, dazed and dilated, stared up at the haggard man as she forced distance between them, keeping her hands braced firmly against his hard chest. Slowly, she licked her lips, well aware of his gaze. His taste seemed so exotic, so oddly animalistic, and yet so natural. She wanted more.

And that was the problem.

"You think I'll come crawling to you, Creed?" she whispered huskily, her flushed features darkening slightly as she furrowed her brows. Deftly, she removed her tangled fingers from his lapel and let her hands fall to her side, her penetrating gaze never leaving his. "You're the one that's going to lie awake at night thinking about this, thinking about me."

Smirking, she turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor, her long jean-clad legs carrying her quickly to her unknown destination. She could hear him growling behind her, could smell his anger and his obvious arousal. Pride and determination alone gave her the restraint to keep from shoving him against the nearest solid surface and having her way with him.

That, and Xavier's voice in her head.

-----

Killing someone was out of the option.

At least, if he wanted to stay in the Mansion.

It was a hard decision to make, one that he didn't take lightly. He sat alone in a quiet study, brooding in an over-sized leather armchair in the dark. Sunlight filtered through the drapes at the large windows, illuminating his darkened form enough to make an onlooker think twice about approaching him. Despite the solitude, Victor Creed did not find it quiet enough.

He'd never found himself in a similar situation before.

Life as a mercenary was the type of life that he'd always accepted, enjoyed even. He lived by his own rules, did what he wanted to do, traveled when he wanted to, and made a nice bundle of bloodstained cash along the way. In the early days, he had taken nearly any job that had come his way. Assassinations, mostly hits on former spouses, bosses, and the like- all amateur stuff. As the years went on, however, he'd developed a style that had set him apart from the rest. He reached a point where he was able to pick his clients, to leaf through all of the possible hits and make his own decisions.

He was a hitman for hire. A damned good one.

Too bad he'd screwed up by joining Mags.

_Fuck_, he couldn't help but think to himself as he sat, arms outstretched on the too-narrow armrests of the overstuffed chair. Erik had been convincing, too convincing, and even though Victor had never before really thought much about his fellow mutants, he'd been drawn in. It had seemed like a good idea, like the perfect opportunity to take a break and get out of the spotlight. A job in San Antonio had gone bad when the victim's cub had witnessed him fucking the blonde over the kitchen table. She had screamed and screamed, begged even. But, he'd already gotten the money up front and couldn't have cared less. The cub had seen him, stared at him with those big blue eyes as he'd broken the whore's neck.

It hadn't been his cleanest job, or even the smoothest. The client had wanted it to be personal, and had failed to mention that there was a cub involved. In Victor Creed's world, personal meant up close and _fucking_ personal. He didn't feel regret, he didn't feel any remorse, and yet every time he thought of his last actual job before the Brotherhood, he couldn't help but get pissed.

He'd been sloppy.

A period of long, dark weeks had followed the job. He'd hunkered down in one of his many bases, a small place outside of Memphis, and had waited it out. Daily, he would boot up his laptop and check the news, waiting and expecting to see his face plastered everywhere. The cub, barely out of diapers, hadn't remembered a thing after Victor had finished with its mom and put it back to bed. He could still remember that, could remember standing over the blue crib, tugging up his pants, and staring down at the sleeping cub.

_What kinda man does that make me? _he found himself thinking.

Now, knowing what it was like, what that simple and yet powerful connection was like between a parent and a child, would he have done the same thing? He'd never once harmed a child, not once. He'd ruined the lives for a number of cubs by taking their parents out, gutting their fathers at their whore girlfriend's apartments. But, he'd never once harmed a child. The X-Brats didn't count, as far as he was concerned. He could clearly recall throwing that phaser, Kitty something, through a wall at some point. Not that it had done a damned bit of good.

Even during his days with Weapon X, he'd left that brutality to the rest of Stryker's pawns. He and Jimmy- Well, he and Jimmy had already been at each other's throats by then. Victor knew it was his bloodlust that made him a natural born predator.

And that's what made him a killer.

"How long do you plan to hole yourself up in my study, Victor?"

Blankly, the fierce Sabretooth glanced up, his thoughts interrupted by the whirring sound of Charles Xavier's finely crafted wheelchair. A snarl curled his lips instinctively as he gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his talons nearly piercing the buttery leather. "Fuck off, old man," he elicited a warning growl.

Xavier seemed to ignore him as he moved past where Victor sat in order to reach the large bay windows. Deftly, he reached up and tugged at a cord, pulling the drapes open to let the dying sunlight spill across the room warmly. Instead of turning to face the brooding man, he sat, hands clasped in his lap, and stared out at the School Grounds.

Victor planned to wait him out, planned to wait until the old man gave up and wheeled himself back to where he had come from. But, after several long minutes, he realized that they were at an impasse.

"Ain't workin' out," he grunted, staring at the back of the elderly gentleman's head.

"I met a man in college, Victor. At first, we seemed to clash horribly. I was very dedicated t my studies, and suffering from a heartbreak at the time. He was so self-absorbed, so quiet and withdrawn that I assumed the worst of him," Xavier began quietly, his voice alone weaving a story with golden thread. "As time went on, I came to respect this man, both for his unwavering will and his astounding brilliance. We grew close over time, and he became my confidante."

Victor made a throaty noise in response, reminding himself that picking up the chair he was sitting in and hurling it at the back of the telepath's head was most likely a rather bad idea. "So."

"So," Xavier continued, giving Victor the sense that the older man was actually smiling as he stared out the large bay windows. "During a hiking trip, we were accosted by a number of armed men, all threatening to kill us if we so much as made a peep. As a young man, I was confident, and by then I'd already gained a great deal of control over my odd abilities. My first thought was to use my abilities to make the men _not_ want to hurt us. But, my friend's first intention was to make the men regret the fact that they'd ever set sights on us."

"You see, my friend was a mutant as well, Victor. Where I would have tried to peacefully resolve the situation, he used his own abilities against them, brutally. And until that exact moment, I'd been completely ignorant of the fact that he was a mutant. So, you can imagine my surprise when he used his ability to turn the weapons upon the very same men that had wished us harm." Xavier paused, pressed the toggle on his wheelchair and turned to face the man whose expression remained completely stoic. "For the next several years, we continued to work together. My dream was, and always has been, to create peace between mutants and non-mutants. Well over a decade ago, I realized that we did not share the same dream. His ideas were, in my opinion, completely warped. We parted ways and have been at odds since."

A long moment of silence passed, and Victor almost had to strain to hear the sound of footsteps hurrying by just outside of the door. Loosening his grip on the arms of the chair, he met the old man's gaze evenly, predatory eyes gleaming in the halo of sunlight that fell over his features. "Mags," he stated simply, his voice a rumbling baritone.

A smile, sad and yet otherwise devoid of emotion, stretched across Xavier's face as he slowly nodded his head once. "Erik suffered many injustices in his life, Victor. In many ways, his beginnings and your childhood had a great deal in common." The mere mention of his childhood caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, and Victor merely glared at the man, daring him to say something that would give him just cause to rip him from crotch to throat. "I believe that in all of us there is a part of us that is inclined to travel the darker, seedier paths in life. In all of us, there is the capacity to be evil. And yet, I do not believe that any one person is born evil. It is the decisions that one makes, the avenues and struggles that one overcomes that determine that capacity to its fullest. It is not one's past, one's environment, or even one's doubts that make them good or evil."

Slowly, he wheeled forward, stopping near enough to Victor's chair that the feral mutant could clearly see the wrinkles that lined the older man's darkened eyes. There was silence between them for a long moment before Victor was capable of speaking. "How do ya know that it's not just something someone's born with? Somethin' that they can't overcome? Maybe-"

"Unlike my friend," Xavier interrupted smoothly, his accent lightly clipped, "You have already learned a number of life lessons that could effectively change your very way of life, Mr. Creed. You've suffered many injustices in your lifetime. Yes, I am aware of your multicolored past, your work as a mercenary. You wish to make up for your past transgressions, do you not?"

The question hit him like a brick to the head, and left him reeling for a long moment. Blankly, he leaned back in his chair, chest constricted. He'd considered the possibility hundreds of times. While guzzling a bottle of bourbon, while dumping a garbage bag filled with bloodied clothing into a dumpster, and, more recently, while watching his own cub run across the School Grounds. And yet, it had never seemed realistic. He knew what he was, what he would always be at heart. He was an animal, simply enough. He was an animal trapped in a man's body, and he knew that sooner or later the bloodlust would get the better of him, just like it always did.

And yet, maybe he could overcome it. Maybe he could change, at least in some ways. He had money, there was no need to accept anymore jobs. He'd gotten tired of Mags' shit and left ages ago, and he was willing to play dress-up with the geeky X-Men. _Don't that count for somethin'?_

"It does, Victor, it truly does," Xavier interrupted his thoughts, forcing Victor's gaze to follow him as he moved toward the door. "If you seek penance, you are most certainly going to continue down this long and treacherous road that you've started down, Mr. Creed. Might I suggest that you learn forgiveness?" The elderly man glanced over his shoulder, a warm smiling brightening his features. "Forgive yourself and start fresh. Everyone deserves a second chance, you know."

Soon enough, the fierce being known to his enemies as the Sabretooth sat alone, secluded in a sunny study as he contemplated his future. And, for the first time in his entire lifetime, he was considering different options.

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**A/N:** Let me stress that Victor's views on murder & rape do not reflect my own. I realize that this story, Victor's brooding, took a dark turn. Please, feel free to leave your thoughts & comments in the form of a review. Criticism is always appreciated.


	7. Without Any Doubts

**Disclaimer:** Sabretooth and any other hereto mentioned X-Men or Marvel characters are the sole property of Marvel and their personal creators. I claim no ownership over any of them, though I do so enjoy playing with Victor. He's an intriguing specimen. Alyson & Vaughn are mine, however, so hands off.

**Note:** This story is rated Mature for a good reason. There will be adult situations, adult language, and a great deal of suggestive content. I'm really glad that there are still readers out there that are following along and enjoying the story. This chapter is sort of a filler, but I promise some action next chapter. Actual action. Not the naughty action.

**One Mistake:** Two feral mutants allow themselves to sink into the carnal release that brings them together, each knowing that it will go no further. But, what happens when their paths cross again nearly a decade later? Some mistakes have consequences, but are they always dire? Starts out pre X1.

* * *

_**-One Mistake-**_

**Without Any Doubts**

_Chapter Seven_

"Honey, I know." Murmuring soothing words softly, Alyson cupped her son, her sole reason for existing, against her side and attempted to comfort him like only a mother truly could. His body was warm against hers, and she could sense his pulse, his shaky breathing, and smell the salty tears that streamed down his face as he pressed his nose against her wrinkled blouse. "I don't like leaving you, but this is important."

"Nuh uh," he argued with the logic that only a child could ever possess. Bloodshot eyes met hers as Vaughn stared up at her meekly, his face blanched with emotion and tears, his nose already runny. "You ain't gotta go, Mom. Let someone else go."

Smiling warmly, she held him against her with one hand while using the other to rub soothing circles on his back. It had calmed him as a baby, and she'd used the same action to put him to sleep numerous times in the past when he'd been haunted by a bad dream. "Vaughn, when we came to the School, what did I tell you?"

He hesitated for a moment, his dark amber eyes clouding with more tears as he sniffled loudly. "That you work for Mr. Xavier now. And that what he was doin' is important, and you're gonna help."

"That's right," she whispered, her smile never waning. "The Institute isn't big enough for all of the mutants in the world, baby. You've seen what it's like for some of us in the public eye, I've never tried to hide the hard truth in the world from you. Everyday, more and more mutants are forced from their homes, fired from their jobs, exiled from their communities. If it weren't for people like Xavier..." she trailed off, watching as his dark brows vexed in contemplation. The tears had nearly stopped, but she sensed that he wasn't ready to let go. Not quite yet. "Tell me, would you rather I asked someone else, someone that doesn't have my unique set of abilities to go out and face possibly getting hurt?"

He hesitated for a moment, his thin lips drawn into a tight line as his thoughts whirled. "No. Maybe," he muttered, clearly not a fan of the way that her logic seemed to make sense. "But, why can't they send Logan? Or Dad?"

The off-handed way that he referred to his father sent Alyson reeling. Vertigo slammed into her briefly, and she found herself using her own son as an anchor to the real world. Blinking rapidly, she stared down at her own flesh and blood and wondered how on earth she hadn't been able to see _all_ of the similarities between father and son. "I know that both of them are like me, like us," she hastened to add, licking her lips in thought as she stared down at his unwavering gaze. "But, this is my responsibility. I'm the one that's done all of the work, put in all of the long hours. I'm the one that's made the Mutant Underground work so far, Vaughn. I know that right now it seems daunting-"

"You care about people that you don't even know, strangers, more than you care about me!" he accused, ripping away from her forcefully to stare up at her angrily. Vaughn's nostrils flared, startling her yet again. "You think I dunno, but I do, Mom, I do! I smell the blood when you come in, can hear you in pain when you run into trouble. I know you don't wanna worry me, but you do! You're _my_ Mom. Mine."

Dumbfounded, Alyson could only stare down at the life that she'd brought into the world, wondering just when her little boy had transformed into a young man. He was only ten, and already he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Mentally, she felt broken, and she ached inside. Could she have done something differently, taken a different path? Maybe if she hadn't joined the X-Men, she would have saved her son the obvious pain and torment that she had put him through. Maybe.

Lips trembling, Alyson pulled her son against her side, ignorant of the feeble resistance he put up as she did so. Eyes closed, she let his scent fill her nostrils, let the feel of his damp face against her wrinkled shirt etch itself into her mind. Mentally, she felt as old and as wise as her boss. And yet physically, she appeared to be Rogue's age, perhaps a few years older. The contradiction left her feeling both ageless and yet still somehow entirely too young to deal with a son of her own.

"I never knew you felt this way," Alyson struggled to get the words out, fighting to hold back the tears that peppered her lashes. "I don't do it to worry you, honey. The only reason I ever tried to keep my injuries hidden from you is because that I can heal. You know that, I know that. So, why should I have worried you?" she demanded softly, her hand lightly trailing through his unruly hair. "Is that why you don't want me to go? Because I hide the after effects from you?"

Alyson had never completely sheltered Vaughn, not even as a young child. She'd explained the situation between his father and herself as soon as the boy began to ask questions, and she'd even done her best to track down photos of the man that had given her the greatest gift any woman could ever ask for. She had explained that Vaughn was a mutant, had held his hand as he watched his own broken leg heal before his own eyes, oblivious to the pain. She had even helped him to understand his own claws, so like her own. Vaughn was interested in so many things, and she had always encouraged his interest in martial arts, hockey, and his clear interest in shadowing Logan everywhere.

And yet, she had clearly kept a number of things hidden from her son. Or, at least, she had tried.

And failed miserably.

"What if one of these times you don't come back?" Vaughn asked suddenly, breaking the quiet reverie that had trapped Alyson in her own thoughts. "What if you don't come back and I'm all alone, Mom? I- I don't want anything to happen to you. I don't know what I would do," he whispered, eyes pleading with her as he stared up at her, eyes as wide as saucers. "Please, Mom."

Briefly, when Alyson had discovered she was pregnant, she had considered giving the child up for adoption. She'd never considered an abortion, simply because it didn't seem fair to blame an innocent party for her own carelessness. But, then she'd thought about her own parents, how they had loved her regardless of her differences, how they had always provided a warm and loving home for her despite the fact that the outside world hated her for what she was. Even if she had to raise her son alone, she'd decided when he was just a budding growth inside of her that she would do everything that she could to give him the life that he deserved.

_Have I failed?_ she couldn't help but wonder to herself.

"Vaughn, I..." she trailed off, emotion filling her voice. Tears bridled in her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, knowing that crying would certainly not ease the worry that had filled her boy's heart. "Honey, do you honestly think that I would ever intentionally place myself in a position where I could be in harm's way? Do you think a single day has gone by when I haven't found myself blessed to be your mother? God, baby," she knew that he could probably smell her frustration, her guilt. "I love you more than anything else in this world, honestly, I do." But, was it enough? Would it ever be enough?

"So," he drew the word out, his tear-stained face filled with a mixture of both hope and dread. "So, does that mean that no matter what I say, you're still going to go out, you're still going to help Mr. Xavier?" his voice was clipped, shaky, and for a moment he looked more like the little boy she'd tucked into bed every night than the near-teenager that had already started his rebellious stage. "Just like that? No matter what I want?"

An ache filled her chest, swallowed up her heart and lungs and clamped down on her throat as she stared down at the miracle that she had helped to create. She had always put him first, always. But, this time, and only this time, something more was at state. If she wanted to help make the world a better place for mutants, then she would have to accept that her son would still love her no matter what decisions she would come to make.

Slowly, she nodded her head, her fingers curling through his shaggy hair. "I have a responsibility, honey. I gave Mr. Xavier my word, and I've put a lot of time and effort into this program. I enjoy what I do, and there are so many mutants out there, even little boys and girls like you, that rely on what I'm doing to simply _exist_. So many people need the support, need the safety, and if I don't do it, who will?" Alyson let the question hang into the air, hoping that her son would come to his senses and accept her need to be a part of the Mutant Underground.

"Mom?" he whispered quietly, his long black lashes fluttering as he blinked away tears that she knew he did not want to fall.

Smiling, she rubbed her fingers through his tawny hair, soothing him with her comforting touch. "Yeah babe?"

"Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how many people need you," he sucked in a deep breath and she heard his pulse rate pick up as he stared up at her, amber eyes narrowed into predatory slits. "Promise me that no matter what, you're always gonna come home, Momma. Please, promise me," he urged, his voice growing huskier with every word.

Tears peppered her lashes as she blinked, her green eyes piercing his as she sought wisdom, searched for a way to properly portray the depths of her love to her own child. Throat choked with emotion, she nodded her head jerkily, lips trembling. "No matter what, baby, no matter what," she assured him, hugging him close to her yet again as she inhaled his scent, praying to a God that she didn't truly believe in that she wasn't lying to her baby.

His dark eyes seemed to consider her for a moment, seemed to pierce straight through her green orbs and right into her soul. A number of long, strained moments passed, time ticked away slowly as she waited to hear the single, simple word that assured her that, somehow, everything would be fine.

"Okay."

**_-----_**

"Yer tryin' to tell me that it don't bother ya?"

Logan stared up at the man that towered over him, his dark brows vexed as he rolled the unlit cigar around in his mouth thoughtfully. "Why would it?" he grunted in response, squaring his shoulders in an obviously defensive stance as he craned his neck in order to look down the hallway at the approaching figures. A long moment of silence passed between the two men, one that was interrupted only by the sound of distant footfalls.

While Logan watched the figures approach, Victor took a moment to stare down at the shorter man, a knowing look in his eyes. The Sabretooth was gifted with enhanced senses, senses that made him even more aware of the conflicting emotions that warred inside of his former friend. A knowing smile curled his lips for a split second before his features went blank, his body stiffening in response to the scent that approached him at a calm and leisurely pace.

He fought the urge to look at her, to take in the shape of her body in the dark wash jeans, the long-sleeved white shirt with the plunging neckline, the way that her jeans were tucked into her knee-high boots, and even the way that her leather jacket attempted to mask her femininity. Yet, his eyes trailed over her slowly, taking in everything and filing it away so that he could go over it in his mind at a later time.

"Well, looks like we got us uh little goin' away parteh, Al." Victor's eyes swept over to the young woman next to his frail, features stoic as he took the sight of the mutant in. He remembered her, of course, had been part of the group of mutants that had taken her hostage in order to see Magneto's dream come to light. Tendrils of platinum locks of hair framed her soft face, and a slight stab of guilt hit him low in the gut when he considered just how far he had been willing to go in order to see Magneto's vision fulfilled. "Ah reckon y'all are just gonna stand there and stare?" she asked, gloved hands dropping to her hips as she cocked her head to the side in a most sassy manner.

The man beside him shifted slightly, and Victor could sense a number of conflicting emotions swirling through the Runt. His first thought was to comment, to torment the man as he had so many times before throughout their decades together. Instead, he found his gaze unwillingly drawn to the woman that had made him question so many things.

Her honey-colored hair was pulled back in yet another french braid, and it fell down her back and nearly reached her ass. Her scent, not overpowered by unnatural additives like most women, smelled floral, almost like jasmine. Momentarily, he wondered what she would look like beneath him, wondered if her hair would fan out underneath her as he drove her body into the mattress.

"Doesn't really surprise me, Rogue," his frail's voice was warm, husky, and did things to his body that he would never admit to a single soul. "Is the Suburban ready, Logan?" she directed her question to the shorter man beside him, leaving Victor to merely glare.

Logan nodded his head slowly, reaching up and quickly removing the unlit cigar from between his lips so that he could talk without any sort of interference. "Fueled, clean, cooler in the back," he retorted with a snort, shaking his head at the same time. Clearly, Victor wasn't the only one that didn't like the idea of the two women venturing off into parts unknown to spread word of the old man's dream. "Rogue."

Alyson seemed to sense that the man needed a moment alone with her partner, and she stiffened slightly as Victor turned on his heel and continued down the hallway, leaving Logan and Rogue to chat quietly off to the side. Silence reigned between them as he forced her to walk behind him, not beside him, as he led her to the large and state of the art garage.

The overhead lights were bright, illuminating the pristine showroom sized garage perfectly. Clearly whoever was in charge of the area, likely that geek Cyclops, took great care of the automobiles. Vehicles ranging from aged shop class cadavers to sports cars that cost more than the average man in America made in two years. Logan, with Victor's supervision, had fueled a large black Suburban that had already been pulled in front of the large overhead door, clearly ready to exit the garage and into the darkening night.

He heard her shuffle from foot to foot, but refused to look at her as he hoisted a hip onto the hood of a late model Corvette, his booted feet scuffing against the freshly swept concrete floor. "Got everythin'?" he asked quietly, eyes focused on the Suburban instead of the woman that stood close enough to him that he could probably see every pore on her face.

She nodded, forcing him to look over at her as he heard the faint shift in the air, the subtle sound caused by her movements. Her dark green eyes were locked onto his, searching, as he snarled at her. "Vaughn's already tucked in, and he should probably sleep through the night," she began, startling him with the direction of the conversation. "He's a little upset that I'm going but-"

"Why are ya goin'?" he asked gruffly, sounding like he was talking through a mouthful of gravel. "Some stupid shit if'n you ask me."

"Luckily, I didn't ask you." She hissed in warning, the sound echoing in the cavernous garage as she crossed a portion of the short distance between them. "You and I both know why I do this, why I'm going out there tonight. I know you're not _completely_ ignorant, Creed. You've at least seen some of what the MRA, those scumbag FoH bastards have done. The entire world's in utter disarray, and if not for the people like Xavier, where would the not so fortunate mutants be?"

He didn't answer her; he didn't have to answer her. Instead, he merely stared at her, wondering why he had been drawn to her in the first place. She was probably the first woman that he'd ever shared any actual post-coital bliss with. Other than Raven, who'd always liked things as rough and primal as he could muster, had never been able to give back as much as she got. But, not Alyson. No, she was like him.

And it was unnerving.

"I can smell it, you know," she spoked suddenly, her voice laced with at least a hint of intrigue. Her boots clacked against the concrete quietly as she approached him, her dark green eyes narrowed into dark slits as she sized him up like a greedy wolf looking to devour its first kill of the evening. "Sooner or later, we're going to have to come to a decision about all of this, and I'm not looking forward to it," she paused, her eyes encompassing him slowly as she shook her head, her long braid falling over her shoulder. "We don't make sense, but I don't know if we're going to be able to bury this- this thing between us."

Victor didn't like that she was talking sense, that her words seemed to echo what he had been thinking since first realizing that she was part of the deal that he had struck with Charles Xavier via telephone many months ago. It didn't sit well with him, as he suspected that the old man had something to do with it all, that he'd played his hand as a telepathic god in order to draw the two feral mutants together. It was conniving, and had it been any other person, he might have written it off as coincidence. But, something told him that Xavier's preaching, his very decision to bring the infamous Sabretooth into his X-Men, had something to do with the very woman that had somehow changed the animal inside the beastly man.

Slowly, he cocked his head to the side, his nostrils flaring. He had no doubt that she could smell his intent, could detect the fine shift in his pheremones. But, he couldn't care less. Her scent changed slightly, and he could almost taste the budding intrigue that was building inside of her, the curiosity that made her mouth go dry. "Woman, I done explained things. I ain't goin' nowhere," he growled, reaching forward and cupping the back of her head with his oversized hand.

Her hair was soft as silk and remained perfectly in place as he forced her to look up at him, forced her to look him in the eye. He detected a faint hint of annoyance, perhaps a bit of fear, but he paid neither any mind.

"It will never work out," she insisted, her voice carrying a pleading note that did not suit her at all. "You're- you're what you are, Victor." His name sounded so Goddamned hot rolling off of her tongue that he nearly growled, but instead he shifted himself so that she could actually _feel_ the evidence of his budding interest. Those green eyes widened slightly, but she did not push away from him as he settled her between his thighs, the apex of their bodies filling with heat as they stood there, alone in the pristine garage. "We're too different. You kill- You've _killed_ for reasons as simple as cash. You nearly killed my closest friends on numerous occasions. What in the hell makes you think that I could ever look past that?"

The question hung in the air like a foul stench as he contemplated her words, inhaled the emotions that seeped from her in thick, heavy wafts. He didn't like that she could make him feel remorse, that she could make him question the terrible acts that he had committed in the past. It was bad enough that he already had problems accepting that he was changing, that he had changed. Knowing, or at least suspecting, that she had played a role in that shift was unsettling.

"I ain't expectin' no miracle," he replied gruffly, his hold on her loosening slightly. Like the night that had brought them together so many years ago, he suddenly wanted her to be the one to come to him. He'd already laid his claim, and she would learn to accept it. "I'm an animal, frail. I know it. But ain't all o' us as lucky as you are."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Viciously, she ripped herself away from him, her long braided hair whipping about behind her like a dangerous noose. He watched as Alyson squared her shoulders and narrowed her eyes, her weight shifting so that she stood on the balls of her feet. No doubt ready to pounce. "I'm nothing like you, Creed. _Nothing_."

"Oh yeah?" he responded, a brow uplifted. He chuckled, more for her benefit than for his own, as inside he felt like he was being ripped in two. "Yer just like me, woman. Just like me. Y' get up in the mornin', ya roll over, and yer instantly aware of yer surroundin's. Ain't no momentary bliss like th' rest of them saps. Y' smell food cookin' a floor down, y' smell some kid wanderin' by that just showered, but put on dirty jeans. Where th' fuck do you get off telling me that we ain't nothin' alike? Are ya fucking serious?"

Her face was flushed, her eyes more like a cat's than a human. He knew if he looked down, looked at her hands, that he would see razor sharp, three-inch nails protruding from her nail beds. "We're _feral_, Victor. We're both _mutants_. But, that's where the similarities end. That's-

"Vaughn," he interrupted fiercely, a frightening growl vibrating through his body. "Y' forgot about Vaughn."

For a moment, she looked frozen in time, like the world had stopped spinning. But, then he watched, in slow motion, as the emotions races across her face. Alyson went from confused to disbelieving to, finally, enraged.

"You know what, Creed?" she demanded, her voice so low that a normal man likely wouldn't have heard her. But, Victor could hear her; knew that she was well aware that he could hear her. Wordlessly, she walked past him, edging around him so that their bodies didn't brush in any way. "You can't waltz in here and decide that you're going to wedge yourself into our lives. Life doesn't work that way. It just doesn't." Her eyes had returned to normal by the time that she paused, her gaze locked onto his.

He debated on dragging her back toward him, tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling it out of its restraints. She'd put up one hell of a fight, no doubt, probably ruin his shirt and get him in one hell of a bad mood. But he knew, could almost smell, that if he got close enough that she wouldn't be able to refuse. She wouldn't be able to resist.

Instead, he restrained himself. Using every single ounce of willpower that he possessed, he remained rooted in place, his features completely impassive. The sound of the door that connected the garage to the main house opening did not jar him, and he remained in the same place as Rogue and Logan crossed the garage together.

The tension in the air was thick as the Runt came to stand beside him, the sound of his slightly elevated inhaling distracted Victor from the scents that clung to the shorter man. "Reckon I missed the show, Creed," Logan muttered, no doubt attempting to get a rise from the larger man.

Without a word, Victor turned on his heel and stalked toward the door, refusing to look over his shoulder as Alyson climbed into the driver's side of the Suburban. He knew that she was standing on the railing, one hand on top of the vehicle and the other braced on the open door as she watched his retreating back. But, he refused to acknowledge her, refused to acknowledge that he'd even heard her last words.

He waited until he was back inside, the aged and polished wood floor beneath his big booted feet, before he paused and really listened. The sound of the Suburban starting and exiting the garage caused him to nearly put a passing student's head through the wall, but he managed to remain completely impassive even when Logan passed by him and ascended the stairs.

They had time. They had all of the time in the world if her healing ability was anything like his.

Victor Creed was an animal, a predator. He could certainly wait for his prey to weaken before pouncing. If she didn't see things his way, then he would _make _her. He would make her see his way of thinking until she screamed his name.

All night long.

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**A/N:** Sorry for any errors. Still doing this all without a beta so any mistakes... Are all mine.


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